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THE  BOY  FROM  THE  WEST 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/boyfromwestOOstan 


The  undaunted  boy  tore  the  paper  to  pieces." 


(See  page  5S) 


The  Boy  from  the  West 


BY 

GILBERT    PATTEN 

AUTHOR   OT 

"The  Boy  Cattle  King,"   "  Don  Kirk's  Mine,"   "  Rockspur  Nine,"  etc* 


Mtl  % 


«? 


PHILADELPHIA 

DAVID    McKAY,    PUBLISHER 

610  South  Washington  Square 


Copyright,  1894,  1899 
By  STREET  &  SMITH 


THE  BOY  FROM  THE  WEST. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MISPLACED  CONFIDENCE, 

"Look  out!" 

This  sharp  cry  was  followed  closely  by  the  shrill, 
warning  whistle  of  the  New  York  Express. 

"Stop  that  horse!" 

"They'll  be  killed!" 

Although  these  horrified  exclamations  broke  from  the 
lips  of  the  spectators  on  the  station  platform,  not  one  of 
the  speakers  possessed  the  courage  or  presence  of  mind 
to  check  the  animal  that  was  whirling  two  human 
beings  toward  a  sudden  and  violent  death. 

The  mid-afternoon  express  did  not  stop  at  Burnham 
Junction  unless  flagged,  and,  being  seven  minutes  be- 
hind time,  it  was  rushing  through  the  village  at  a 
speed  that  raised  a  cloud  of  whirling  dust  at  each 
crossing. 

An  odd-looking  boy  who  had  been  sitting  on  a  bench 
at  the  end  of  the  depot,  apparently  half  asleep,  arose 
to  his  feet  with  the  first  cry.  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  railroad  he  saw  a  horse  dashing  madly  down  the 
sloping  road  toward  the  crossing,  dragging  a  light 
carriage,  in  which  were  seated  two  white-faced  persons. 

It  seemed  that  the  carriage  would  reach  the  crossing 
one  second  before  the  train,  in  which  case  it  would 
be  dashed  to  pieces  by  the  engine. 

832774 


6  Misplaced  Confidence. 

Not  a  Bound  cam©  from  the  boy's  lips;  but  he  ran 
forward  at  a  loping  gait  that  seemed  dreadfully  slow, 
but  was  really  very  deceptive,  and  crossed  the  track  in 
front  of  the  express. 

He  was  barely  in  time  to  grasp  the  horse  by  the  bit, 
and  then  came  a  most  astonishing  display  of  strength 
and  skill,  for  he  stopped  the  animal  within  a  space  less 
than  twelve  feet. 

As  it  was,  he  had  not  another  foot  to  spare  for,  as  he 
set  the  creature  back  on  its  haunches  and  whirled  it 
aside,  the  first  car  of  the  flying  train  brushed  his  shoul- 
der and  he  was  enveloped  in  a  whirlwind  of  dust  and 
sand. 

With  a  grip  of  iron,  the  strange  lad  held  the  horse 
steady  until  the  last  car  flashed  along,  and  then,  when 
the  danger  was  past,  he  calmly  drawled : 

"Wa-al,  of  all  the  fool  tricks  I  ever  saw,  this  yar 
trying  to  run  over  a  train  of  cars  takes  the  lead." 

The  driver  of  the  horse,  a  man  of  middle  age,  rather 
a  rough-looking  fellow,  bridled  instantly,  although  his 
voice  was  a  trifle  unsteady,  as  he  hotly  retorted : 

"You're  a  smart  younker,  you  be!  You  came  nigh 
gettin'  us  all  killed !  If  you'd  let  the  hoss  alone,  we'd 
got  over  the  crossin'  ahead  of  the  train,  an' " 

"That  will  do,  sir,"  cuttingly  interrupted  the  person 
by  the  driver's  side,  who  was  a  boy  a  year  or  two  older 
than  the  one  who  had  stopped  the  horse.  "You  have 
been  drinking,  and  we  both  escaped  death  by  a  miracle. 
You  have  failed  to  get  me  here  in  time  to  catch  the  ex- 
press, and  this  ends  my  dealings  with  you." 

Having  said  this,  the  boy,  who  was  dressed  some- 
thing like  a  dandy,  and  carried  a  stout  cane,  jumped 
from  the  carriage  to  the  ground. 

He  was  a  stout,  well-built  lad,  with  dark  eyes  and 
hair,  a  proud  face,  and  haughty  bearing.     There  were 


Misplaced  Confidence.  7 

oostly  rings  on  his  fingers,  a  diamond  pin  in  his  cravat, 
and  a  heavy  gold  chain  strung  across  his  vest.  A 
character  reader  would  have  said  he  possessed  a  very 
passionate  disposition,  having  a  flashy  temper  that  was 
not  readily  curbed. 

The  driver's  face,  that  had  been  pale  a  short  time 
before,  now  flushed  with  anger. 

"You  agreed  to  give  me  ten  dollars " 

"If  you  got  me  here  in  time  to  catch  the  express," 
broke  in  the  boy  of  the  dark  eyes.     "You  failed." 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  you'll  pay  the  reg'ler  price  for  the 
team?" 

"Then  you  make  a  big  mistake.  No  such  a  bargain 
was  made.     You  won't  get  a  cent." 

"I'll  collect  it  of  yer  dad.     He's  rich  an' " 

"Get  it— if  you  can.     That's  all." 

And  then  the  speaker  turned  to  the  lad  who  had 
saved  him  from  being  killed,  saying  rather  stiffly : 

"I  have  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did,  and " 

"That  yar's  all  right,  partner,"  was  the  offhand 
retort.  "I  didn't  like  to  see  you  walked  over  by  the 
cars,  and  so  I  took  a  hand.  I  don't  ask  any  thanks  for 
a  little  thing  like  that." 

"A  little  thing!  You  do  not  seem  to  realize  what 
you  have  done.  Come  over  to  the  station.  As  I 
missed  the  express,  I'll  have  to  take  the  mixed  train 
back  to  Somerset  Falls." 

"That's  the  trail  I'm  bound  over." 

The  two  boys  crossed  the  track,  paying  no  attention 
to  the  crowd  that  was  gathering  about  them,  or  to  the 
driver  of  fcbe  carriage,  who  was  giving  vent  to  some 
very  violent  language. 

The  boy  who  had  stopped  the  horse  presented  a  great 
contrast  to  the  one  he  bad  saved ;  for  he  was  dressed  in 
the  very  plainest  of  clothes,  wearing  long-legged  boots, 


8  Misplaced  Confidence. 

into  the  tops  of  which  his  pantaloons  were  carelessly 
thrust.  He  wore  a  woolen  shirt,  with  a  wide  collar, 
beneath  which  a  tie  was  knotted,  but  had  on  neither 
coat  nor  vest.  About  his  waist  was  a  heavy  leather 
belt,  from  which  a  coiled  horsehair  lasso  hung  at  one 
side;  and  there  were  holsters  for  revolvers  on  either 
hip,  although  they  were  empty  now.  On  his  head  was 
a  wide-brimmed  Stinson  sombrero,  the  band  being 
thrust  full  of  cartridges. 

In  fact,  he  was  dressed  like  a  cowboy  from  the  West, 
and  he  had  the  air  of  a  cowboy.  Not  the  fancy  cow- 
boy who  gets  himself  up  in  flashy  attire  and  poses  in  a 
museum  for  twelve  dollars  a  week,  but  the  genuine, 
unpretending  article,  such  as  may  be  found  on  the 
great  cattle  ranches  of  Kansas  or  Texas. 

He  was  a  trifle  heavy  and  awkward  in  his  manner, 
seeming  rather  ill  at  ease  in  the  presence  of  the  dandi- 
fied youth  he  had  saved  from  a  frightful  disaster. 

The  mixed  train  for  Somerset  Falls,  which  had  been 
standing  on  a  siding,  now  backed  in  on  the  main  track, 
as  was  the  usual  custom  as  soon  as  the  express  had 
passed. 

Somerset  Falls  was  located  ten  miles  away,  at  the 
termination  of  a  branch  road  that  was  being  built 
through  to  Clareford,  a  promising  manufacturing  town. 
The  road  had  been  completed  as  far  as  Somerset  Falls 
the  previous  year;  but  an  unfortunate  legal  complica- 
tion had  stopped  it  there,  although  the  Falls  was  no 
more  than  a  village  of  six  or  eight  houses,  being  abso- 
lutely of  no  importance  save  as  the  nearest  railway 
station  to  Clareford. 

The  boys  made  haste  to  get  inside  the  one  passenger 
car  as  soon  as  possible,  so  they  could  escape  from  the 
Btaring  eyes  of  the  country  people  who  had  witnessed 
the  exciting  incident  described  earlier  in  this  chapter. 


Misplaced  Confidence.  9 

Much  to  their  relief,  the  train  was  all  "made  up," 
and  it  soon  started.  There  were  only  five  passengers 
besides  themselves. 

"I  take  it  you  are  from  the  West?"  observed  the  lad 
of  the  dark  hair  and  eyes,  after  they  had  chatted  until 
they  became  fairly  well  acquainted. 

"Hit  it  plumb  center  first  shot,"  returned  the  other, 
with  unassumed  heartiness.  "I  reckon  I  must  look  to 
the  people  round  these  yar  parts  about  as  a  tenderfoot 
looks  to  us  when  he  shows  up  out  West  for  the  first 
time." 

"Where  are  you  from?" 

"Kansas." 

"Come  East  for  pleasure?" 

"No;  business." 

"It  can't  be  possible  you  are  going  to  Somerset  Falls 
on  business?" 

"Wa-al,"  smiled  the  boy  from  the  West,  "I  don't 
expect  to  hang  round  that  yar  place  long.  I'm  going 
on  to  Lake  Kenshaw." 

The  lad  with  the  dark  eyes  started. 

"I  came  through  from  Lake  Kenshaw  to-day,"  he 
asserted.  "Missed  the  train  at  Somerset  Falls,  and 
agreed  to  pay  ten  dollars  to  catch  the  express.  You 
know  how  I  lost  it,  and,  as  there  is  not  another  New 
York  passenger  until  midnight,  I  am  going  back  to  the 
lake." 

"Then  we  can  hang  together  till  we  get  thar.  I 
say,  know  a  man  by  the  name  of  Cyrus  Stark,  who  is 
up  that  way  fishing?" 

Again  the  city  lad  started  slightly. 

"Stark — Cyrus  Stark?"  he  repeated.  "Seems  to  me 
I  know  of  the  gentleman." 

The  boy  from  the  West  straightened  up  stiffly. 

"Maybe  he's  the  kind  what  you  call  gentleman  here 


io  Misplaced  Confidence. 

in  the  East,"  he  said;  "but  out  West  we'd  call  him  an 
onery  swindler.  Look  here!"  with  a  sudden  burst  of 
confidence,  "tbat  yar  man  swindled  my  mother  out  of 
a  fortune!  Gentleman!  Wa-al,  if  he  is,  I  don't  ad- 
mire the  breed."  . 

The  face  of  the  listening  lad  flushed,  and  he  bit  his 
lip;  but  he  managed  to  speak  with  assumed  calmness. 

"Swindled  your  mother?     How?" 

"Wa-al,  you  see,  this  Stark  and  my  father  were  part- 
ners in  some  ventures  before  father  died.  Stark  tried 
to  buy  the  White  Horse  Mine,  but  he  didn't  work  the 
riffle.  When  father  was  killed  by  a  blast  as  he  was 
goin'  through  the  mine  one  day,  Stark  came  up  with 
papers  that  seemed  to  prove  his  right  to  the  property. 
I  don't  know  much  about  law,  but  there  was  a  suit, 
and  he  beat  mother  out  of  her  eye  teeth.  I  reckon  law- 
yers, judge  and  jury  were  well  paid  for  their  decision. 
Anyhow,  I  know  the  whole  business  was  crookeu,  ^ 
my  name  isn't  Bart  Stone." 

"Seems  to  me  I  have  heard  of  this  White  Horse 
Mine,"  muttered  the  listening  boy.  "It  proved  a 
failure,  didn't  it?" 

"The  lead  was  lost." 

"Something  like  that." 

"Yep.  They  abandoned  the  mine — it's  been  deserted 
for  near  two  years.     Say,  can  I  trust  you?" 

"  What  a  question !     Of  course." 

"Wa-al,  I  went  through  that  yar  mine  less  than  four 
weeks  ago,  and  what  do  you  think  I  found,  pard?" 

"Give  it  up." 

"I  found  the  lost  lead.  That's  what  brings  me  on 
here.  Mother  raised  five  thousand  dollars,  and  sent 
me  to  see  if  I  can  buy  the  stock  of  Cyrus  Stark.  He 
holds  it  all,  and  it's  said  he'd  be  glad  to  take  any  price 
for  it.     If  I  can  get  it  back,  I'll  feel  as  if  I  was  pretty 


Misplaced  Confidence.  n 

near  squar'  with  him — and  I  reckon,  if  the  whole  black 
truth  was  known,  you'd  see  I  have  more  reasons  than 
I  have  told  you  yet  for  wanting  to  get  squar'." 

"And  that's  why  you  are  going  to  Lake  Kenshaw?" 

"Yep.  I  want  to  get  at  Mr.  Stark  before  he  hears 
anything  about  the  lead  being  found  again." 

At  this  moment,  a  brakeman  thrust  his  head  in  at 
the  car  door,  calling: 

"Somerset  Falls — Somerset." 

The  city  boy  arose  to  his  feet,  a  sarcastic  smile  on 
his  face,  observing : 

"My  dear  Mr.  Stone,  you  are  altogether  too  new  for 
this  part  of  the  country.  As  long  as  you  have  told  me 
all  this  without  asking  my  name,  I  advise  you  to  go 
back  to  your  Kansas  home  and  give  over  all  hope  of 
purchasing  the  stock  of  the  White  Horse  Mine.  It 
will  save  you  a  great  deal  of  useless  trouble." 

"Your  name!"  gasped  the  astonished  boy  from  the 
West.     "What  is  your  name?" 

As  the  train  came  to  a  stop,  the  other  replied  : 

"It  is  Walter  St.  Omer  Stark — and  Cyrus  Stark  is 
my  father. ' ' 


12  The  Race  for  the  Mine. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   RACE   FOR   THE    MINE. 

"I'll— be—kicked!" 

Bart  Stone  faintly  muttered  the  words,  staring  at 
his  late  companion,  who  was  deliberately  walking  from 
the  car." 

"What  a  big  fool  a  big  fool  is!  I've  been  and 
blowed  the  whole  thing  to  him,  and  he's  Stark's  son ! 
That  dishes  me!" 

However,  he  was  not  the  boy  to  give  up  so  easily, 
and  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  crying: 

"Stop!  Hold  on!  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  bit, 
partner!" 

Instead  of  heeding  the  call,  Walter  St.  Omer  Stark 
quickened  his  steps  and  left  the  car. 

Bart  had  started  to  his  feet,  and  he  now  hurried  after 
the  other  boy.  He  reached  the  platform  just  in  time 
to  see  Walter  Stark  disappear  on  the  run  around  a 
corner  of  the  small  depot. 

"Running  like  a  coyote!  Here's  after  him!  He's 
got  to  be  mighty  lively  on  the  hoof  to  get  away  from 
me." 

The  young  cowboy  dashed  forward  in  the  loping 
way  peculiar  to  him  when  he  ran,  covering  the  ground 
in  a  surprising  manner,  for  all  of  his  heavy  boots. 

As  he  came  around  the  corner  of  the  station,  he  saw 
Walter  Stark  running  swiftly  and  gracefully  down  the 
street.  Walter  turned  his  head,  and  Bart  fancied  there 
was  a  defiant,  triumphant  smile  on  his  haughty  face, 


The  Race  for  the  Mine.  13 

"He  thinks  I  don't  know  split-hoofs  from  whole — 
and  he's  just  about  right.  All  the  same,  he'll  have  to 
hurry  right  along,  now  I've  got  my  peepers  opened  a 
bit.  It's  win  or  lose,  and  I  an't  hyar  for  my  health." 
t  The  boy  from  the  West  knew  well  enough  that  his 
late  companion  was  running  for  the  nearest  place  to 
obtain  a  horse,  and,  so  he  followed. 

Walter  was  a  remarkably  swift  runner,  and  yet  the 
pursuing  lad,  for  all  of  his  loping  gait,  managed  to 
hold  his  own.  He  saw  the  rich  man's  son  turn  in  at 
the  first  house  he  reached.  When  Bart  came  up,  run- 
ning easily,  he  was  just  in  time  to  hear  a  red-headed 
man,  who  was  standing  in  the  open  stable  door,  saying: 

"No,  Bill  an't  back  from  Burnham  yit.  Thought 
you  was  goin'  to  New  York.  How'd  you  git  back  so 
soon?" 

"Missed  the  express  at  Burnham,  and  came  back  on 
the  afternoon  mixed.  Must  have  a  horse  to  get  to  the 
lake.     Where  can  I  find  one?" 

"Wull,"  mumbled  the  old  fellow,  deliberately 
gnawing  at  a  plug  of  black  tobacco,  "Idunno.  It's 
purty  certun  ye  can't  git  a  hoss  around  here  on  less 
Steve  Jones  will  let  his." 

"Where  does  Steve  Jones  live?" 

"Third  house  down  the  next  block.     You'll  find 

-Wull,  Isnum!" 

This  concluding  exclamation  was  caused  by  the  as- 
tonishing swiftness  with  which  Walter  Stark  turned 
and  dashed  away. 

Bart  had  overheard  all  this;  but  he  was  not  quite  so 
swift  in  his  movements  as  the  other  boy,  and,  as  a  re- 
sult, Stark  darted  past  him. 

"Hyar!  Hold  on!  Wa-al,  go  it!  I'm  comin',  and 
I  can  hoof  it  a  bit!" 

Only  one  chance  of  getting  a  horse  I     The  boy  who 


14  The  Race  for  the  Mine. 

reached  Steve  Jones'  first  would  succeed,  and  the  other 
lad  would  be  left. 

"Got  to  do  it;  so  here  goes!" 

Bart  ground  the  words  through  his  teeth,  as  he  set- 
tled down  to  run  for  all  he  was  worth. 

Walter  Stark  was  famous  as  an  amateur  sprint? 
and  bis  astonishment  can   bo  imagined  when  he  i'o.i   u 
the  slow-going  cowboy,  encumbered  as  be  was  with 
heavy  boots,  forging  along  by  his  side  and  threatening 
to  pass  him. 

"What  are  you  running  for,  you  fool?"  be  snapped, 
turning  bis  dark  eyes — now  flashing  with  anger — on 
the  boy  from  the  West. 

"Oh,  just  for  fun!"  was  the  drawled  reply.  "I  may 
be  a  fool,  but  thar's  bigger  ones  to  bo  corraled  any  day. 
You  an 't  seen  me  woke  up  yet,  partner;  I'm  worse'n 
a  long-horn  on  the  rampage." 

"Do  you  expect  to  get  ahead  of  «ze?" 

"Wa-al,  I  expect  to  try  mighty  hard.  I'll  bet  a 
good  hawse  I  do — — " 

"I'll  take  tbe  bet!" 

Whack!  With  a  swift  and  unexpected  movement, 
Walter  Stark  lifted  the  heavy  cane  he  had  clung  to  all 
this  time  and  brought  it  down  on  Bart's  head,  using 
all  the  strength  of  his  muscular  arm. 

It  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  Bart  Stone,  that  he  wore 
a  heavy  felt  hat  on  his  head,  for  had  it  been  otherwise, 
the  cane  might  have  fractured  his  skull.  As  it  was, 
the  blow  dropped  him  face  downward  in  the  dust, 
where  he  lay  quite  still,  making  no  move  to  get  up. 

When  Walter  saw  the  result  of  his  savage  blow,  his 
face  paled,  and  he  half  halted,  gasping: 

"I  hope  I  didn't  kill  the  fellow!  That  would  be 
awful!     No,  he  stirs — he's  all  right!" 

Then  the  rich  man's  son  hurried  onward  again,  leav- 


The  Race  for  the  Mine.  15 

ing  the  victim  of  his  dastardly  blow  still  stretched  in 
the  dust  of  the  road. 

How  long  Bart  lay  there  he  could  not  tell;  but  be 
finally  opened  his  eyes,  sat  up  and  looked  around,  some- 
what dazed. 

"Was  I  kicked  by  a  mule?  or  what  was  it  hap- 
pened?" he  muttered,  staring  at  the  unfamiliar  scenes 
of  the  quiet  country  about  him.  "My  head  feels  like 
thar  was  a  stampede  of  spilt-hoofs  inside  it.  Whar 
am  I,  anyway?" 

It  took  him  some  moments  to  collect  his  scattered 
wits;  but  he  finally  remembered  all  that  had  happened. 

"Wonder  how  long  I've  laid  hyar  on  the  trail?"  he 
mumbled,  as  he  arose  to  his  feet,  gathering  up  his 
lasso,  which  had  become  detached  from  where  it  was 
suspended  at  his  waist.  "Maybe  Mr.  Walter  St.  Omer 
Stark  has  reached  his  father  by  this  time— maybe  not! 
Perhaps  I  can  stop  him,  and  get  the  start  if  I  hustle. 
Here  goes!"  Unmindful  of  the  throbbing  pain  in  his 
head,  he  ran  down  the  street  once  more,  holding  the 
lariat  in  his  hands. 

"Third  house  around  the  corner,  came  from  his  dry 
lips.     "One,  two,  three — hyar  it  is!" 

At  that  moment  a  boy,  mounted  on  a  spirited  little 
bay  mare,  rode  out  from  the  stable  that  sat  back  from 
the  house.  He  saw  Bart  coming  down  the  road  at  a 
run,  and  a  laugh  broke  from  his  lips. 

"The  wild  boy  from  the  West  has  a  hard  head,  but 
there's  nothing  in  it,"  he  chuckled,  allowing  the  little 
mare  to  canter  out  to  the  road,  where  he  checked  her 
and  awaited  the  approach  of  the  lad  he  felt  he  had 
outwitted. 

Bart's  eyes  were  filled  with  a  desperate  light,  as  he 
approached,  and  he  made  some  preparations  which 
Walter  Stark  did  not  note. 


16  The  Race  for  the  Mine. 

The  rich  man's  son  sat  still  on  the  horse  until  Bart 
was  quite  close,  and  then  he  called  out  tauntingly: 

"Things  move  in  this  part  of  the  country,  and  you 
are  altogether  too  slow.  Better  take  my  advice,  go 
back  home,  and  stick  to  your  cattle.  That's  the  kind 
of  society  you're  best  adapted  to.     Good-by." 

He  touched  the  little  mare  with  a  whip  he  held,  and 
she  wheeled  to  bound  away. 

Bart  Stone  was  still  running  forward,  and  something 
was  circling  about  his  head.  Of  a  sudden  it  darted 
out,  and  the  noose  of  the  horsehair  lasso  dropped  about 
the  neck  of  the  little  mare. 

The  instant  he  made  the  cast,  Bart  had  leaped  to  one 
side  of  the  road  and  taken  a  turn  of  the  lasso  about  a 
stone  hitching-post. 

As  a  result,  the  little  mare  was  stopped  with  a  sud- 
denness that  nearly  hurled  her  forward  on  her  nose. 
Walter  Stark  was  sent  flying  through  the  air,  to  land 
heavil/  in  the  dirt  of  the  road,  bewildered,  dazed,  as- 
tounded. 

Choked  by  the  noose,  trembling  in  every  limb,  the 
bay  mare  stood  still,  probably  wondering  what  had 
happened  to  check  her  so  abruptly  and  rudely. 

"Whoa — easy!"  called  Bart,  as  he  released  the  lasso 
and  reached  the  side  of  the  horse. 

With  his  hand  on  the  animal's  bridle,  he  knew  he 
was  master  of  the  situation. 

A  light  spring  from  the  ground  took  him  to  the 
saddle;  but  he  held  the  prancing  creature  in  check 
with  one  hand,  while  other  skillfully  coiled  the  faithful 
horsehair  lariat. 

Walter  Stark  sat  up  in  the  dust  of  the  road  just  in 
time  to  see  the  bay  mare  canter  easily  past  him,  with 
the  boy  from  the  West  on  her  back. 

Bart  turned  in  the  saddle  to  wave  his  hand  at  the 


The  Race  for  the  Mine.  1 7 

humiliated  rich  man's  son,  calling  back,  in  an  aggra- 
vating drawl : 

"I'll  think  over  that  yar  advice  of  yours,  partner, 
and  maybe  I'll  take  it,  if  I  conclude  you  was  right. 
But  you  can't  always  tell  how  fast  a  hawse  can  trot  by 
counting  its  ribs.     Good-byl" 


1 8  4     Too  Late 


CHAPTER    III. 

TOO    LATE. 

"Mr.  Stark,  if  you  can  spare  me  the  time,  I  want  to 
talk  over  a  little  business  with  you." 

"Business,  business!  This  is  no  place  for  business, 
young  man !  I  came  here  to  escape  business — I  am  here 
to  fish.  No,  sir;  I  will  not  discuss  business  of  any 
sort." 

The  words  filled  Bartley  Stone  with  despair.  After 
passing  through  so  many  adventures,  and  riding  on 
horseback  from  Somerset  Falls  to  Lake  Kenshaw,  was 
he  to  be  baffled  simply  because  this  man  had  resolved 
not  to  be  bothered  with  business  for  the  time? 

Unless  he  could  induce  Cyrus  Stark  to  talk  business 
immediately,  he  felt  sure  he  would  utterly  fail  in  his 
purpose,  as  a  short  delay  would  be  pretty  certain  to 
make  the  man  aware  of  the  truth  about  the  White 
Horse  Mine,  now  known  to  his  son. 

And  still  it  would  not  do  to  let  him  know  the  matter 
was  of  serious  importance,  for  then  he  might  suspect 
the  truth,  and  refuse  to  negotiate  at  all. 

"I  have  come  a  long  distance  to  see  you,  sir, 
and " 

"That  is  nothing  to  me.  I  have  come  a  long  dis- 
tance to  avoid  all  bother  of  business.  Physician  told 
me  I  must — said  it  was  imperative.  And  you're  only 
a  boy.  I  never  transact  business  with  a  minor.  That 
settles  it,  sir." 


Too  Late.  19 

"It  is  about  the  'White  Horse  Mine,  Mr.  Stark." 

The  millionaire  started  and  looked  the  boy  over  with 
a  slight  show  of  interest. 

"That?  Why,  it's  petered  out — no  good — failed. 
You're  from  the  West?" 

''Yes,  sir.  I  know  the  lead  of  that  yar  mine  was 
lost;  but  I've  been  down  the  shaft,  and  I  reckon  I  can 
make  it  pay  on  a  small  scale  by  working  over  the  aban- 
doned vein.  I'm  willing  to  take  the  venture,  if  I  can 
buy  the  right  to  the  mine." 

"  Won't  be  any  trouble  about  that.  Go  ahead  and 
dig  around  in  the  old   shaft  as   much  as  you   like." 

And  Cyrus  Stark  settled  back  in  the  hammock 
spread  beneath  the  trees  close  by  a  pretty  cottage  that 
stood  on  the  shore  of  the  lake,  purring  at  his  half- 
smoked  cigar. 

But  Bart  was  not  be  dismissed  in  such  a  manner. 

"I  bad  rather  do  this  thing  in  a  business  way,"  he 
said.  "I  have  heard  the  shares  of  the  mine  have  no 
quoted  value,  and  that  you  hold  them  all.  If  they  can 
be  bought  for  a  small  pile,  so  I  can  make  something 
out  of  working  the  old  veins,  why  I'm  hyar  to  buy 
them." 

"And  you  bother  me  over  such  a  trifling  matter?     I 
won't  have  it!      The  stock  is  in  the  hands  of  my  at- 
torney,  Jubal    Heep,   No.   73  Broadway,    New   York 
City;  and  he  has  full  authority  to  dispose  of  it.     Go  to; 
him!     I'm  done!     Won't  say  another  word  about  it!"  ' 

The  effort  to  get  anything  further  out  of  Mr.  Stark 
proved  fruitless;  but  he  had  said  quite  enough  to  give 
the  boy  from  the  West  an  idea  of  the  proper  course  to 
pursue. 

"To  Jubal  Heep  I'll  go,"  he  thought.  "If  lean 
reach  him  before  he  receives  a  hint  of  the  truth,  I  may 
corral  this  yar  stock,  after  all. ' ' 


20  Too  Late. 

Five  minutes  later  he  was  riding  through  the  dusk 
of  on-coming  night,  Lake  Kenshaw  at  his  back. 

The  little  bay  mare  was  a  wiry  animal,  for  she  did 

not  seem  to  mind  the  effect  of  the  sharp  pace  at  which 

she  had  covered  the  six  miles  between  Somerset  Falls 

?  and  Lake  Kenshaw,  and  she  was  as  spirited  and  ready 

as  ever  when  headed  back  toward  the  town. 

Bart  was  a  pretty  hard  rider;  but  he  found  no  occa- 
sion for  urging  the  little  horse.  The  roads  were  bad  in 
that  section,  and  it  was  his  chief  outlook  that  the  mare 
received  no  injury. 

He  wondered  how  he  would  reach  Burnham  Junc- 
tion, knowing  there  was  a  midnight  passenger  train 
for  New  York  which  he  might  catch,  if  he  could  get 
there  on  time. 

"I'll  hoof  it,"  was  his  plucky  resolve.  "I  can  do  it 
all  right.  This  hawse  must  be  left  at  Somerset  Falls, 
or  else  I  may  be  taken  for  a  hawse  thief." 

The  lights  of  the  little  town  were  twinkling  from  the 
windows  of  the  houses  when  he  rode  down  the  dusty 
street  where  Walter  Stark  had  been  humiliated  that 
afternoon. 

He  had  noticed  a  store  and  post  office  near  the  depot, 
and  thither  he  went,  having  decided  to  leave  the  horse 
at  that  place.  As  he  rode  up,  two  men  came  out  of  the 
store.  They  saw  him,  and  one  of  them  started  for- 
ward, crying: 

"That's  the  boyl    That's  my  hossl  Catch  him!" 

Bart  immediately  realized  he  was  in  great  danger  of 
being  detained  there,  which  would  certainly  baffle  him 
utterly  in  his  attempt  to  reach  Jubal  Heep  before  the 
attorney  was  notified  not  to  sell  the  shares  of  the  White 
Horse  Mine. 

"Off  the  trail !  Clear  the  way  for  a  stampede !  Hyar 
goes  the  whole  bunch !"     Swish !  the  coiled  lasso  hissed 


Too  Late.  21 

through  the  air,  and  cut  across  the  flank  of  the  little 
mare,  causing  her  to  leap  forward  and  shoot  past  the 
man  who  had  bounded  out  to  grasp  her  bit. 

"Can't  stop  for  little  matters  now,"  came  through 
Bart's  clinched  teeth.  "Got  to  make  Burnham  in 
time  to  catch  them  idnight  passenger.  I've  got  the 
name  of  lifting  a  hawse,  and  so  I  may  as  well  ride  the 
critter  to  Burnham." 

He  knew  there  was  little  danger  of  immediate  pur- 
suit, for  there  were  not  any  spare  horses  in  Somerset 
Falls,  as  a  rule. 

Twice  he  was  obliged  to  stop  and  inquire  concerning 
the  road  to  Burnham;  but  he  reached  the  junction  with 
nearly  two  hours  to  spare  before  midnight. 

He  rode  direct  to  a  livery  stable,  where  the  horse 
was  delivered ;  and  he  left  ten  dollars  to  pay  for  the  use 
of  the  animal,  stating  it  belonged  to  Steve  Jones,  of 
Somerset  Falls,  who  would  call  for  it. 

Then  he  went  down  to  the  railroad  station,  where  he 
found  a  telegraph  office,  but  was  informed  there  was 
no  line  running  to  Somerset  Falls. 

The  post  office  and  stores  of  the  town  were  closed ; 
but  he  "borrowed"  a  sheet  of  paper  and  an  envelope  of 
the  station  agent,  and  proceeded  to  write  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Jones,  telling  the  man  where  he  would  find  his  horse 
and  money  to  remunerate  him  for  the  use  of  the  animal. 

The  station  agent  sold  him  a  stamp,  and,  when  the 
letter  was  completed,  sealed,  and  dropped  into  the 
mailbox  at  the  depot,  he  breathed  easier. 

"Hanged  if  I  don't  feel  something  like  a  hawse 
thief!"  he  muttered,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the 
platform.  "Never  did  anything  like  that  before,  but  I 
just  had  to  this  time.  Wonder  whar  that  yar  Walter 
Stark  is." 

He  soon  found  out,  for  a  carriage  containing  three 


22  Too  Late. 

persons — two  men  and  a  boy — whirled  up  to  the  station 
about  thirty  minutes  before  the  midnight  passenger 
was  due;  and  Bart,  who  was  standing  in  the  darkness 
at  one  corner  of  the  building,  recognized  the  lad  as  the 
rich  man's  son  whom  he  had  outwitted. 

Walter  Stark  and  one  of  the  men  entered  the  station, 
and  Bart  hurried  to  a  window  that  was  standing  open. 
There  he  heard  himself  described  and  inquiries  made 
as  to.  whether  he  had  been  seen  by  the  station  agent. 
The  agent  said  such  a  boy  had  certainly  been  there, 
but  he  was  gone  then. 

"Did  he  purchase  a  ticket  here?"  anxiously  asked 
the  son  of  the  millionaire. 

"No." 

"And  you  don't  know  where  he  went?" 

"I  do  not.     What  has  he  done?" 

"Stolen  a  horse,"  was  the  reply.  "I  have  a  war- 
rant for  his  arrest,  and  the  sheriff  is  with  me  to  serve 
it.  If  he  shows  up  here  again,  detain  him,  and  I'll 
pay  you  twenty-five  dollars.  But  he's  a  perfect  young 
ruffian.     You  want  to  look  out  for  him." 

With  that,  Walter  Stark  and  the  sheriff  hurriedly 
left  the  depot  and  once  more  entered  the  carriage,  being 
driven  rapidly  away. 

Bart  hoped  he  had  seen  the  last  of  them ;  but  he  took 
care  to  keep  out  of  sight  until  the  midnight  train  whis- 
tled. As  the  train  drew  up  at  the  station,  he  got  on 
the  last  car. 

Just  then  the  carriage  containing  Walter  Stark 
whirled  up  to  the  station  again,  and  the  boy  sprang 
out,  rushed  forward  and  boarded  the  train,  as  it  was 
beginning  to  move. 

"He's  on  his  way  to  see  Jubal  Heep,"  thought  the 
boy  from  the  West.  "Somehow  he  has  got  word  to 
his  father,  and  has  sent  him  to  get  ahead  of  me." 


Too  Late.  *3 

This  made  Bart  feel  anything  but  pleasant,  as  he 
entered  the  car  and  sat  down.  He  half  hoped  Walter 
Stark  would  come  along,  see  him,  and  pick  a  quarrel. 
Although  he  knew  it  was  but  natural  young  Stark 
should  look  out  for  his  father's  interests,  he  could  not 
forgive  the  fellow  for  knocking  him  down  with  the 
cane,  after  being  indebted  to  him  for  the  preservation 
of  his  life.  He  did  not  go  through  the  cars  in  search 
for  Walter,  and  the  b^ys  were  not  fated  to  meet  on  the 
journey  to  New  York  City,  which  was  reached  early 
in  the  morning. 

From  the  Grand  Central  Station  Bart  took  the  Third 
Avenue  elevated  downtown,  crossing  City  Hall  Park 
in  the  dusky  light  of  morning,  scarcely  giving  a  glance 
to  the  settees  of  drowsing  bums  and  unfortunates  who 
had  no  other  place  to  spend  the  night. 

The  number  of  Jubal  Heep's  office  was  reached  long 
before  the  building  was  opened  for  the  morning;  and 
the  anxious  and  excited  boy  could  do  nothing  but  walk 
up  and  down  the  sidewalk  before  the  door,  waiting 
until  Heep  should  appear. 

He  well  knew  Walter  Stark  might  proceed  direct  to 
the  home  of  the  attorney,  which  was  unknown  to  Bart, 
and  thus  easily  ruin  his  prospects;  but,  for  all  of  this, 
he  could  do  nothing. 

People  began  to  hurry  along  the  street  to  stores  and 
offices,  heavy  trucks  rumbled  over  the  pavement,  and 
the  surface  cars  were  gradually  filled  until  at  last  they 
were  crowded.  Then  the  janitor  came  and  opened  the 
building.  From  him  Bart  learned  the  number  of 
Jubal  Heep's  office,  and  he  walked  up  the  stairs  until 
he  found  the  door. 

There  he  waited.  It  seemed  as  if  the  man  would 
never  appear.  Other  offices  were  opened  all  ahout,  and 
there  was  a  general  air  of  business  all  through  the 


34  Too  Late. 

building  by  ten  o'clock;  but  it  was  fully  thirty  minutes 
after  ten  before  a  nervous  little  man,  with  black  whis- 
kers and  a  nose  like  the  beak  of  a  hawk,  unlocked  the 
door  of  Heep's  room. 

Bart  entered,  and  the  man  looked  at  him  inquiringly, 
seeming  slightly  surprised  at  his  curious  and  unusual 
appearance. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  young  man?"  he  in- 
quired, in  a  raspy,  file-like  voice. 

"I — I'm  hyar  to  see  Mr.  Jubal  Heep,"  faltered  the 
lad. 

"You  are  looking  at  him  now.  What's  your  busi- 
ness?" 

Bart  had  intended  to  approach  the  matter  cautiously, 
and  in  a  manner  that  could  not  arouse  the  attorney's 
suspicions;  but  Heep's  brusqueness  disconcerted  him, 
and  he  answered : 

"I've  come  to  see  if  I  can  corral  the  shares  of  the 
White  Horse  Mine." 

"Corral  them?    What's  that?" 

"Buy  them,  I  mean,  sir." 

"Hum!  Talk  English,  young  man.  You're  too 
late." 

"Too  late!"  gasped  Bart,  his  heart  sinking.  "What 
do  you  mean?" 

"The  stock's  no  good  in  this  country — isn't  worth  a 
penny.  So,  being  instructed  by  Mr.  Stark,  the  owner, 
to  get  rid  of  it  at  any  price,  I  decided  to  send  it  to  Eng- 
land and  spring  it  on  the  blooming  Britishers. ' ' 

"And " 

"It's  in  the  hands  of  an  agent.  He  sailed  for  Eng- 
land yesterday  on  the  Majestic" 


Fairly  Balked.  25 


CHAPTER  IV. 

FAIRLY    BALKED. 

Bart  actually  staggered,  as  if  he  had  been  struck  a 
heavy  blow  in  the  face. 

"Sent  to  England?"  he  faintly  muttered.  "Gone! 
I'm  done  for!" 

The  man  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  rubbing  his 
beak-like  nose  with  one  white  forefinger. 

"You  seem  broke  up,"  he  observed.  "What's  the 
matter?     What  did  you  want  of  the  stock?'' 

The  boy  from  the  West  straightened  up,  determined 
not  to  let  the  lawyer  know  how  hard  he  was  really  hit. 
It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  do;  but  he  forced  a  smile 
to  his  face,  even  though  it  proved  to  be  a  somewhat 
sickly  one. 

"Wa-al,"  he  said,  speaking  with  his  habitual  drawl, 
"you  see  it's  like  this:  My  father  used  to  own  that  yar 
mine,  and " 

"Your  father?"  exclaimed  Jubal  Heep.  "Is  it  pos- 
i  sible  you  are  the  son  of  Norman  Stone,  who  was  acci- 
dentally killed  in  the  mine  by  a  premature  blast?" 

"I  am  his  son,  sir." 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  you  can  want  of  that  petered- 
out  hole  in  the  ground.  You  ought  to  know  enough  to 
be  aware  there  is  nothing  in  it." 

"I  know  the  lead  was  lost,  sir;  but  I  was  through 
the  mine  a  few  weeks  ago,  while  on  a  trip  into  Col- 
erader,  and  I  reckoned  I  could  make  something  by 
working  over  the  old  vein.     I  may  be  wrong.     Some 


26  Fairly  Balked. 

people  out  whar  I  live  say  I  don't  know  shucks;  but 
I'm  willing  to  buy  the  stock,  if  I  can  get  it  cheap 
enough,  and  try  to  see  what  I  can  make  out  of  the  old 
mine." 

"You'd  be  stuck,  and  stuck  bad,  boy.  Why,  ex- 
perts failed  to  find  a  trace  of  the  lost  lead,  and  they 
said  the  mine  was  utterly  worked  out.  If  you've  got 
any  money  you  mean  to  put  into  that  piece  of  property, 
thank  your  good  fortune  Ira  Wilson  has  sacked  the 
shares  to  London." 

"So  Ira  Wilson  is  the  name  of  the  man  who  has 
them?" 

"Yes." 

"What's  his  business?" 

Jubal  Heep  grinned  craftily,  again  rubbing  his 
nose  with  one  forefinger,  a  movement  that  somehow 
seemed  sinister  and  offensive  to  the  lad. 

"His  business?  Oh,  he's  an  agent — a  promoter — a 
catcher  of  suckers." 

Bart  did  not  fail  to  understand  this. 

"And  has  he  gone  to  England  for  the  express  purpose 
of  selling  them  yar  shares  to  suckers  over  thar?" 

"Not  much!"  was  the  scornful  answer. 

"He  wouldn't  tinker  with  anything  so  small.  He 
had  a  dozen  schemes  on  hand,  and  I  induced  him  to 
see  what  he  could  do  with  the  old  mine.  Britishers 
are  particularly  anxious  just  now  to  sink  their  good 
money  in  any  kind  of  mining  property  in  this  country; 
and  I  thought  Wilson  might  be  able  to  get  something 
out  of  the  shares.  Told  him  to  dispose  of  them  at  any 
price.  He's  to  have  a  commission,  so  he'll  do  his  best. 
Maybe  he  won't  be  able  to  do  anything.  If  not,  Stark 
better  burn  the  worthless  old  papers. 

"But  I  can't  spend  any  more  time  with  you,  boy. 
Just  go  back  home,  and  think  yourself  in  luck." 


Fairly  Balked.  27 

Bart,  however,  declined  to  be  dismissed  in  such  a 
manner. 

"Is  it  not  still  possible  for  me  to  purchase  the  stock 
of  you?"  he  questioned,  knowing  whatever  he  did 
must  be  done  without  further  delay. 

"You  don't  want  it." 

"Yes,  I  do,  sir." 

"Well,  you're  not  half  as  smart  as  I  took  you  to  be 
— and  that's  saying  a  good  deal." 

The  boy  flushed,  but  held  his  temper,  for  all  of  this 
uncomplimentary  declaration. 

"I  will  pay  you  for  the  shares  now,"  he  said;  "and 
you  can  cable  to  that  yar  agent  of  yours  not  to  dispose 
of  them.     He'd  get  the  message  as  soon  as  he  arrives." 

"I  can't  do  business  with  you;  you're  only  a  boy." 

"I'm  my  own  master,  Mr.  Heep;  and  I've  got  the 
rocks  in  my  pocket." 

"The  rocks?" 

"The  dust — stuff — money." 

The  lawyer  was  immediately  interested,  and  he 
rubbed  his  beak  with  renewed  vigor,  a  cunning  twinkle 
entering  his  eyes.  If  this  boy  was  still  fool  enough  to 
buy  the  worthless  shares,  why  not  sell  them  to  him? 

"How  much  money  have  you,  young  man?" 

"How  much  will  you  take  for  the  shares?" 

"Oh,  well,  you  must  know  we  do  not  propose  to 
sell  them  for  nothing,  as  Wilson  may  make  a  big  strike 
with  them.  It  will  be  useless  for  you  to  offer  an  insig- 
nificant sum.  A  few  hundred  dollars  are  no  object, 
and  I  do  not  suppose  you  have  more  than  a  hundred  or 
so?" 

Jubal  Heep  was  trying  to  sound  him. 

"I  will  pay  you  five  hundred  dollars,  spot  cash  for 
the  shares,  mister;  and  that  yar' s  business,"  said  Bart 
in  his  deliberate  way. 


28  Fairly  Balked. 

The  lawyer  laughed. 

"I  knew  it  would  be  useless  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  you.  Five  hundred  dollars!  Why,  I  wouldn't 
take  the  trouble  to  cable  Wilson  for  that  sum  ! 

"Come!  If  you  really  have  any  money,  make  a  fair 
kind  of  an  offer.     Speak  up!" 

"It  won't  be  any  use  to  try  to  make  the  old  mine  pay 
if  I  have  to  give  too  much  for  her,"  was  Bart's  cau- 
tious reply.  "You  know  well  enough  it's  no  bonanza. 
What' 11  you  take?" 

"You  want  me  to  set  a  price?" 

"That's  about  it." 

"Well,  then,  you  may  have  those  shares  for  the  sum 
of " 

"One  hundred  thousand  dollars!" 

These  words  came  from  a  third  person,  who  had 
quietly  entered  the  office  just  in  time  to  catch  what  the 
lawyer  was  saying. 

"Walter  Stark!"  gasped  the  boy  from  the  West,  in 
blank  dismay,  as  his  eyes  rested  on  this  person. 

"Right  you  are,"  came  from  the  lips  of  the  haughty 
youth,  who  regarded  the  other  lad  with  the  utmost  con- 
tempt. "I  overslept  myself  this  morning,  and  you 
came  near  stealing  a  march  on  me;  but  it  seems  I  am 
still  in  time  to  block  the  game." 

"You — you — "  choked  Bart. 

"Now,  don't  go  to  calling  names,  my  cow-punching 
friend!    You  may  get  yourself  into  trouble  if  you  do!" 

"And  I  saved  you  from  being  killed!" 

"I  suppose  you  expect  pay  for  that.  Well,  I'll  give 
you  a  tenner,  and  call  it  square." 

"Don't  do  it!  It's  a  blamed  sight  more'n  that  yar 
neck  of  yours  is  worth !" 

The  son  of  the  millionaire  turned  pale  with  anger, 
starting  forward^  his  hands  clinched,  savagely  grating : 


Fairly  Balked.  29 

"You  insolent  puppy!  I've  a  mind  to  give  you  a 
good  thumping!" 

"Come  ahead,"  drawled  Bart,  his  hands  on  his  hips, 
apparently  quite  unprepared  for  an  assault. 

"Hold  on!"  grated  Jubal  Heep,  stepping  between 
them.  "I'll  have  no  scrapping  in  this  office!  What's 
the  meaning  of  this,  anyway,  Mr.  Stark?" 

"It  means  this  fellow  has  been  trespassing  in  the 
mine,  and  pretends  he  has  discovered  the  lost  lead. 
That  is  why  he  is  so  anxious  to  buy  the  stock.  It  will 
be  a  very  good  plan  to  hold  on  to  it  until  we  learn  if 
there  is  anything  in  his  discovery." 

"Bosh!  This  boy  discovered  the  lead,  after  the  ex- 
perts failed?     I  don't  take  any  stock  in  that." 

"At  the  same  time,  I  have  directions  from  my  father 
to  notify  you  not  to  dispose  of  the  stock." 

"I  have  sent  it  to  England." 

"Sent  it?    When?" 

"Yesterday.     The  agent  sailed  on  the  Majestic'" 

"Then  he  must  be  notified  as  soon  as  he  lands  not  to 
let  go  of  the  stock  until  he  receives  further  instructions. 
Will  you  see  to  it?" 

"Certainly,  if  you  say  so." 

"I  do.  As  for  this  smart  boy  from  the  wild  and 
woolly  West,  he  is  not  in  it  at  all.  But  I  am  satisfied 
with  breaking  him  this  way.  He  gave  me  a  nasty 
throw  yesterday,  and  I'll  yet  have  satisfaction  for 
that." 

Trembling  with  anger  and  despair,  Bart  cried  : 

"Any  time  you  want  satisfaction,  just  sail  right  in, 
Mr.  Walter  St.  Omer  Stark!  I'll  agree  to  give  you  all 
yer  w7ant — and  a  little  more!" 

Young  Stark  smiled  sneeringly. 

"You  do  not  know  my  record,  cow-puncher.  I'm 
the  champion,  amateur  boxer  of  the  Troj?     Club,  and 


30  Fairly  Balked. 

I  knocked  out  Bob  Plummer,  the  professional,  in  a  fair 
and  square  set-to.  I'd  do  you  up  while  you  was  catch- 
ing your  breath.  Remember  what  I  said  :  You  are  al- 
together too  slow  for  the  East.  Take  a  tumble  to  your- 
self and  go  back  where  you  belong,  or  you'll  be  cap- 
tured by  some  dime  museum  manager  and  caged  for 
a  freak." 

Bart  was  tempted  to  launch  himself  at  the  sneering 
and  insolent  lad,  but,  by  a  strong  effort,  he  held  his 
passion  in  check,  deliberately  saying: 

"Maybe  the  time'll  come  when  I'll  make  you  swal- 
ler  that  yar  bluff!  I  may  be  a  little  slow,  but  I  have  a 
way  of  getting  around  sometimes.  You'll  hear  from 
me  again,  and  you  won't  be  pleased  none  whatever. 
Good-day." 

He  abruptly  left  the  lawyer's  office,  Walter  Stark's 
hateful  and  sneering  laugh  ringing  in  his  ears. 


Hot  After  the  Stock.  31 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOT   AFTER   THE   STOCK. 

"I  feel  like  I'd  been  run  down  by  a  stampeded  herd!" 
muttered  the  unlucky  boy  from  the  West,  as  he  de- 
scended the  stairs,  utterly  regardless  of  the  elevator. 
"And  it's  all  my  fault!  I  deserve  it  for  letting  my 
mouth  loose  and  telling  all  I  knew.  That  was  the 
worst  thing  I  ever  did." 

His  aspect  was  certainly  that  of  a  crushed  and 
crestfallen  boy;  and  he  was  so  heedless  when  he 
reached  the  street,  now  thronging  with  life,  that  he  ran 
into  several  persons,  being  sharply  rebuked  for  his 
awkwardness  in  one  instance. 

After  a  time,  he  realized  he  was  hungry,  and  he 
sought  a  restaurant,  where  a  square  meal  was  ordered 
and  eaten.  Indeed,  for  all  his  misfortune,  his  appe- 
tite was  so  voracious  the  waiter  stood  gazing  at  him 
in  amazement. 

Being  unaccustomed  to  the  ways  of  the  East,  he 
lade  several  blunders  that  caused  those  who  saw  him 
)  smile,  and  brought  an  abashed  flush  to  his  own 
cheeks. 

Having  satisfied  his  appetite  and  paid  the  bill,  he 
left  the  restaurant  and  was  soon  on  Broadway  once 
more.  Scarcely  knowing  why  he  did  so,  he  took  a 
surface  car  for  uptown,  getting  off  at  Fourteenth 
Street,  and  walking  northward. 

Naturally,  he  attracted  a  great  deal  of  notice,  being 
attired  in  a  manner  quite  unusual  for  Broadway;  but 


32  Hot  After  the  Stock. 

he  paid  no  attention  to  the  stares  and  smiles  of  the 
crowd,  his  mind  occupied  with  thoughts  of  his  own 
affairs.  Suddenly,  however,  as  he  reached  Twenty- 
third  street,  these  words  aroused  him  to  a  sense  of  his 
surroundings: 

"Hello,  old  man!  Thought  you'd  sailed.  Heard 
you  were  going  on  the  Majestic." 

"So  I  was  intending.  My  passage  was  paid  and 
stateroom  engaged;  but  I  was  in  that  little  smash  on 
the  Delaware,  Lackawanna  and  Western." 

"You  don't  say!  Escaped  all  right?  Hurt  any 
way?" 

"Not  hurt;  but  I  missed  the  Majestic." 

Bart  heard  all  this,  and  he  looked  the  two  men  over 
with  interest.  The  one  who  had  missed  the  steamer 
was  a  rather  dashy,  bright-appearing  young  man,  with 
a  shrewd  face  and  a  reddish  mustache  that  had  lately 
been  curled  by  a  barber.  He  was  well  dressed,  and 
carried  a  large  leather  grip  in  his  hand. 

"Missed  the  Majestic!"  thought  the  boy  from  the 
West.     "What  if  he " 

He  scarcely  dared  think  of  that;  but  he  resolved  not 
to  let  the  young  man  with  the  grip  get  out  of  sight. 

The  two  men  talked  a  few  moments  more  and  then 
they  parted,  the  one  Bart  was  watching  crossing 
Twenty-third  Street. 

The  boy  followed,  in  terror  lest  the  stranger  should 
disappear  in  the  moving  throng.  A  block  of  teams  shut 
in  between  the  man  and  the  lad,  and  it  appeared  as  if 
fate  would  baffle  Bart  then  and  there. 

"You  can't  stop  me  in  this  yar  way!"  he  muttered 
somewhat  fiercely. 

The  next  moment,  he  astounded  the  spectators  and 
nearly  paralyzed  a  policeman  by  leaping  to  the  back 
of  a  horse  attached  to  a  heavy  truck,  springing  to  the 


Hot  After  the  Stock.  33 

animal's  mate,  and  dropping  lightly  to  the  ground, 
quickly  darting  into  the  crowd. 

He  was  again  close  after  the  man  with  the  leather 
grip,  and  this  individual  was  pursued  directly  to  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  where  he  walked  up  to  the  clerk's 
desk  and  registered,  receiving  a  room. 

The  man's  grip  was  taken  by  a  colored  porter,  and, 
as  he  followed  the  servant  to  the  elevator,  Bart  slipped 
up  and  looked  at  the  name  written  on  the  register.  He 
nearly  uttered  a  whoop  cf  delight,  for  it  was:  "Ira  D. 
Wilson." 

"Luck  is  coming  my  way  like  a  bucking  bronco  on  a 
tear!"  he  chuckled,  striking  his  clinched  right  hand 
into  the  open  palm  of  his  left.  "This  is  the  very  agent 
who  has  them  yar  shares,  or  I  can't  tell  a  Texas  long- 
horn  from  a  Kansas  jackrabbit!" 

He  heard  a  hoarse  sound  close  by  his  side,  and  turned 
to  see  the  face  of  a  man  who  was  peering  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  register. 

This  man  was  a  decidedly  rough-looking  person, 
being  none  too  well  dressed,  and  having  a  face  that 
was  not  altogether  pleasant  to  look  upon.  His  shift- 
ing, unsteady  eyes  were  now  filled  with  a  strangely  eager 
light.  Instanty  Bart  was  impressed  with  the  idea  that  he 
had  seen  this  person  before,  although  he  could  not  im- 
mediately remember  when  or  where.  For  the  moment 
his  attention  was  attracted  to  the  stranger,  and  when 
he  turned  to  look  for  Ira  D.  Wilson,  the  "promoter" 
had  disappeared. 

In  fact,  Wilson  had  entered  the  elevator  and  been 
carried  toward  the  upper  part  of  the  hotel,  where  his 
room  was  located ;  but  Bart  knew  so  little  about  big 
hotels  that  he  was  uncertain  on  this  point. 

"Eight  hyar  I'll  stay  till  I  spot  him  again,"  thought 
the  boy. 


34  Hot  After  the  Stock. 

Then  he  noticed  the  rough-looking  man,  who  was 
walking  swiftly  toward  the  stairs,  up  which  he  disap- 
peared without  being  challenged,  which  was  certainly 
an  oversight  on  the  part  of  those  placed  there  to  look 
out  for  such  matters. 

"Wonder  who  he  is,  and  whar  he's  going  up  thar?' 
thought  the  boy  from  the  West.  "He  an't  got  any 
business  round  this  yar  hotel,  I  reckon.  And  if  I 
haven't  seen  him  somewhar  some  time,  I  know  a  heap 
less  than  I  think  I  do." 

He  was  so  nervous  he  would  have  paced  up  and  down 
the  tiled  floor,  but  he  did  not  desire  to  attract  the  notice 
of  the  well-dressed  patrons  of  the  hotel,  many  of  whom 
were  staring  at  him  as  if  he  were  really  a  freak.  Seek- 
ing a  settee  in  a  corner  where  he  fancied  he  would  not 
attract  a  great  deal  of  attention,  he  sat  down. 

Still  he  was  stared  at;  and  he  heard  a  gilded  youth 
observe  to  another : 

"What  is  that  stwange  cwecher  over  theh,  deah  boy? 
Its  verwy  wemarkable,  don't  yer  know." 

"Why,  Algy,  old  fel,"  said  the  second  gilded  youth, 
"that's  some  low  fellaw  who  has  been  weading  blood- 
and-thundaw  stowies.  He's  got  himself  up  in  that 
wig  to  go  out  west  in  Jersey  and  kill  Indians,  don't 
yer  see." 

"Pwobably  wun  away  fwom  his  mothaw. " 

"Of  cawse.  He'd  be  dweadfully  fwightened  if  he 
met  a  cigaw-store  Indian  on  a  dawk  evening.  Haw! 
haw!  haw!" 

"Haw!  haw!  Have  a  cigawette?" 

"Ya-as,  thawnks.  Come  out  wheah  we  can  watch 
the  deah  gyrls  go  past." 

Then  they  ambled  away,  leaving  a  boy  behind  who 
was  regarding  them  with  the  utmost  contempt. 

"I  suppose  them  yar  are  dudes,"  muttered   Bart. 


Hot  After  the  Stock.  35 

"If  I  am  slow  and  from  the  West,  I  thank  goodness  I 
was  not  brought  up  in  a  city  to  grow  into  one  of  them 
critters!" 

He  was  keenly  on  the  alert  for  the  reappearance  of 
Ira  Wilson,  having  faith  the  agent  would  show  up 
again  before  long.  In  this  he  made  no  mistake;  before 
much  more  than  half  an  hour  had  passed,  the  man  for 
whom  he  was  watching  sauntered  up  to  the  cigar  coun- 
ter and  purchased  a  weed,  for  which  he  threw  down  a 
quarter  and  did  not  receive  back  any  change. 

The  boy  was  seized  by  a  fit  of  timidity  that  was  quite 
unusual  for  him.  He  trembled  violently,  and  hesitated 
about  approaching  the  man. 

"What  if  he  has  sold  the  shares  already?"  thought 
the  lad,  holding  back  and  staring  at  Ira  Wilson. 
"What  if  he  won't  talk  to  me  about  them  at  all?  He 
shall!  I've  got  the  dust;  and  I'm  going  to  have  them 
yar  shares  before  Mr.  Ira  Wilson  sails  for  England ! 
That's  business,  and  now  is  my  time." 

Having  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  he  deliberately 
approached  the  agent,  who  had  lighted  his  cigar  and 
turned  to  walk  away. 

"Mister,"  said  Bart,  reaching  Wilson's  side,  "I 
want  to  chin  with  you  a  bit,  if  you  can  spare  me  a  few 
minutes  of  your  time.  I  won't  bother  you  long,"  he 
hastily  added,  fearing  the  man  was  about  to  rebuff  him. 
"It's  business  I  want  to  talk,  and  I'll  lay  a  straight 
trail,  so  you  can  follow  me  without  any  break." 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  asked. 

"I  want  to  see  if  I  can  buy  some  mining  stock  of 
you,"  explained  Bart,  seeing  it  was  best  to  come  to  the 
point  at  once. 

"You  want  to  buy  some  mining  stock  of  me?"  re- 
peated the  agent,  with  a  puzzled  air.  "Then  you  have 
come  to  the  wrong  man." 


36  Crooked  Work. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CROOKED  WORK. 

"The  wrong  man?" 

Bart  gasped  the  words,  his  bronzed  face  paling,  and 
a  sudden  feeling  of  weakness  running  over  him. 

Could  it  be  possible  there  was  any  mistake  and  this 
was  not  the  Ira  Wilson  he  was  looking  for?  Was  he 
to  be  baffled  and  defeated  again  by  fate? 

"You're  Mr.  Ira  Wilson,  an't  you,  sir?" 

"That  is  my  name." 

"And  you  are  taking  the  shares  of  the  White  Horse 
Mine  to  England  to  dispose  of  over  thar?" 

Wilson  looked  somewhat  surprised,  scowling  slightly. 

"It  seems  to  me  you  know  a  great  deal  about  my 
business,"  he  observed,  evidently  displeased.  "How 
did  you  find  out  so  much?" 

"I've  lately  come  from  Mr.  Jubal  Heep." 

At  this,  the  man  immediately  gave  him  renewed  at- 
tention ;  and  Bart  believed  he  had  hit  upon  the  right 
course. 

"Heep?  Did  he  send  you?  That  makes  a  differ- 
ence. It  is  not  my  custom  to  do  business  with  boys  of 
your  age;  but  if  Heep  told  you  to  come  to  me,  I'll  hear 
what  you  have  to  say." 

"Then  you  have  the  stock?" 

"Well,  suppose  I  have,  what  then?"  was  the  cau- 
tious retort. 

"I  want  to  know  how  much  you'll  take  for  the  whole 
bunch." 


Crooked  Work.  37 

"Who  do  you  represent?" 

"Bartley  Stone." 

"Stone?     Never  heard  of  him  before.     What  is  he?" 

"He  is  a  boy  about  my  size  and  get-up." 

"Oh,  you  are  Bartley  Stone?" 

"Hit  her  plumb  center  that  time,  mister.  I'm  Bart- 
ley Stone;  and  I  want  to  buy  that  thar  stock." 

Wilson  stepped  back,  tipped  his  head  to  one  side,  the 
cigar  held  in  the  highest  corner  in  hi3  mouth,  and  sur- 
veyed the  lad  from  head  to  feet,  not  speaking  for  some 
seconds.  Bart  stood  up  squarely  and  looked  the  man 
in  the  face,  waiting  to  hear  what  he  might  have  to  say. 

"You're  the  genuine  article,"  the  agent  finally 
nodded.  "No  fake  about  you.  What  part  of  the 
West  are  3Tou  from?" 

"Kansas." 

"Great  State.  Been  through  Kansas.  What  are 
you  doing  in  the  East?" 

"Oh,  kind  of  whooping  around  to  see  the  country. 
Thought  I  might  pick  up  a  good  investment." 

"And  that's  why  you're  looking  after  the  White 
Horse  Mine,  eh?" 

"Wa-al,  I  heard  as  how  the  stock  may  be  roped 
mighty  cheap." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  and  Wilson  shook  his 
head  gravely.  "Certain  English  capitalists  are  hot  to 
get  hold  of  it.  That's  why  I'm  taking  it  over.  The 
mine  has  been  lying  idle  for  some  time,  on  account  of 
legal  difficulties  and  complications;  but  it  is  to  be 
opened  up  and  worked  on  a  large  scale  once  more 
within  a  few  months." 

It  was  with  difficulty  Bart  succeeded  in  keeping  a 
smile  of  amusement  from  his  face.  Indeed,  there  was 
a  queer  twinkle  in  his  eyes;  but  he  spoke  with  the 
utmost  gravity. 


38  Crooked  Work. 

"This  scarcely  holds  water  with  what  Mr.  Heep  said 
about  it.  He  told  me  the  stock  was  of  very  small 
value,  having  no  quoted  price;  and  I  kind  of  reckoned 
he  was  giving  it  to  me  fair  and  squar. " 

A  look  of  disgust  flashed  across  the  agent's  face  and 
disappeared  in  a  second. 

"It  is  evident  Heep  was  stringing  you,"  he  smiled. 
"I  do  not  suppose  he  considered  you  a  possible  cus- 
tomer, and  so  he  gave  such  false  ideas.  You  do  not 
look  as  if  you  are  stuffed  with  money." 

"Can't  always  judge  a  bird  by  her  feathers,  mister. 
Maybe  I'll  pan  out  a  heap  sight  better'n  I  look." 

"Have  you  cash?" 

"Some." 

"How  much?" 

"Wa-al,  maybe  I  have  enough  to  buy  that  thar  stock 
— maybe  not.  I  can  tell  a  great  deal  better  after  I  find 
out  how  much  she'll  cost  at  rock-bottom  figures." 

Bart  was  cautious,  and  the  agent  did  not  know  ex- 
actly how  to  take  him.  There  was  a  certain  independ- 
ent, straightforward  air  about  the  lad  that  seemed  to 
indicate  he  meant  business,  and,  yet  on  account  of  his 
years,  the  man  distrusted  him. 

Wilson  seemed  to  hesitate,  all  the  while  trying  to 
size  up  the  boy.     Pretty  scon,  he  said : 

"If  I  make  a  bargain  with  you,  how  do  I  know  your 
father  will  not  come  forward  and  repudiate  it?" 

"My  father  is  dead." 

"Ah!     Where  did  you  get  your  money?" 

"It  was  given  me  for  investment  by  my  mother."       ' 

"Your  mother?     Is  she  well  fixed?" 

"I  have  all  the  money  we  possess  right  in  my  belt," 
touching  the  leather  band  that  ran  around  his  waist. 

"Then  let  me  tell  jTou  something,"  Wilson  suddenly 
returned;  "you  had  better  keep  it  right  there.     I  have 


Crooked  Work.  39 

stuck  a  great  many  suckers  in  my  day,  although  I'm 
not  so  very  old;  but  I'll  hanged  if  I  ever  beat  a  boy. 
If  you  had  plenty  of  the  filthy,  I  might  think  it  would 
teach  you  a  good  lesson  to  paste  the  White  Horse  stuff 
onto  you.  As  it  is,  I  confess  Jubal  Heep  told  you  the 
truth — the  stock  is  not  worth  a  tinker's  hoot.  You 
don't  want  it." 

Then  Bart  was  obliged  to  once  more  tell  the  story 
about  thinking  it  possible  he  could  make  something 
working  over  the  old  vein. 

"Don't  take  any  chances  on  that,  young  man,"  ad- 
vised the  agent.  "The  only  way  to  make  a  mine  of 
that  sort  pay  is  to  work  it  on  a  large  scale,  and,  as  you 
can't  do  that,  you  would  be  a  dead  loser." 

"Still,  I  will  take  my  chances,  if  I  can  get  hold  of  it 
cheap  enough,"  persisted  the  boy  from  the  West. 
"Will  you  set  a  price  for  the  whole  bunch,  please." 

Ira  Wilson  puffed  at  the  fragrant  cigar,  a  far-away 
look  in  his  keen  blue  eyes.  All  at  once,  he  seemed  to 
come  back  to  the  situation,  saying : 

"If  you  get  stuck  on  this,  don't  blame  me,  young 
man.  Of  course  I  am  bound  to  sell,  if  you  have  the 
rhino  and  persist  in  buying." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me.  I'm  able  to  take  care 
of  myself  pretty  well.     Set  the  price." 

"Well,  I'll  take  ten  thousand  dollars  for  the  whole 
lot." 

Ten  thousand  dollars!  That  was  at  least  twice  as 
much  as  Bart  had  in  his  possession. 

"I'll  give  you  one  thousand,  mister,"  coolly  said 
the  lad;  "and  'cording  to  your  own  tell  that  yar's 
morne'n  she's  worth  a  heap  sight." 

"I  can  get  more  than  that  out  of  it  by  taking  the 
shares  over  the  pond ;  and  I'll  save  you  from  wishing 
you  hadn't  done  so." 


40  Crooked  Work. 

"Say,  call  it  two  thousand.     That's  business." 

Right  there  Bart  stuck  for  a  long  time;  but  Wilson 
finally  said  he  would  take  twenty-five  hundred  dollars. 
Barely  had  he  uttered  the  words  when  Bart  closed  with 
him,  thrusting  a  fifty  dollar  bill  into  his  hand. 

"This  binds  the  bargain,  mister!"  laughed  the  boy. 
"Them  thar  shares  are  mine.  I'll  take  them  right 
away." 

The  agent  was  a  bit  staggered ;  but  he  finally  laughed 
and  said : 

"All  right.  Come  up  to  my  room,  and  we'll  finish 
up  the  business." 

Up  by  the  elevator  they  went.  When  Wilson 
reached  the  door  of  his  room,  he  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  surprise;  for  he  found  it  standing  slightly  open. 

"I'm  dead  sure  I  locked  it  when  I  went  out!"  he 
cried,  as  he  hastily  entered.  "I  hope  everything's  all 
right.  Ah!  here's  my  grip!"  catching  sight  of  it  as 
it  sat  on  a  small  table  near  a  window.  "The  stock  is 
in  that." 

He  advanced  to  the  grip  and  put  out  his  hand  to 
open  it. 

A  sudden,  startled  cry  came  from  his  lips,  and  he 
leaped  forward,  catching  it  up. 

"Cut — slashed!     Crooked  work!     Look  here!" 

He  turned  it  so  Bart  saw  a  keen  knife  had  ripped  a 
long  slit  in  one  side  of  the  grip. 

A  moment  later,  Wilson  had  torn  it  open  and  was 
hastily  examining  its  contents.  After  a  few  seconds, 
he  ejaculated : 

"The  stock  of  the  White  Horse  Mine  is  gone!  The 
certificates  have  been  stolen!" 

"Are  you  sure?"  gasped  Bart,  who  could  scarcely 
believe  fate  had  struck  him  such  a  cruel  blow. 

"Sure!    There's    no  mistake!      They    were   taken 


Crooked  Work.  41 

while  I  talked  with  you.  The  thief  cannot  be  far 
away !     Out  —after  him ! ' ' 

In  his  excitement,  he  dashed  from  the  room,  the  boy 
at  his  heels.  The  car  of  the  elevator  happened  to  be  at 
hand,  and  they  caught  it  going  down. 

When  the  main  floor  was  reached,  Wilson  rushed 
toward  the  desk  to  give  notice  what  had  happened. 
Bart,  however,  saw  a  man  who  was  hurrying  toward 
the  front  doors — the  rough-looking  man  who  had  peered 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  register.  Instantly  the  sus- 
picion of  the  boy  was  aroused,  and  he  bounded  forward, 
pointing  at  the  stranger,  as  he  cried  in  ringing  tones: 

"Stop  that  man !     Search  him !     He  is  a  thief!" 

The  fellow  cast  a  hasty  look  over  his  shoulder,  and 
then  rushed  out  to  the  street.  Bart  was  close  after 
him,  and  he  knew  it. 

"I  won't  go  back  to  do  time  now!"  grated  the  fugi- 
tive, as  he  ran  across  the  wide  sidewalk. 

An  instant  later  he  had  leaped  to  the  seat  of  a  two- 
horse  cab,  snatching  the  reins  and  whip  from  the 
fingers  of  the  astounded  driver,  who  was  pitched  head- 
long to  the  street. 

Swish!  crack!  the  whip  cut  through  the  air  and 
scored  on  the  backs  of  the  horses,  causing  the  animals 
to  leap  forward  madly. 

Bart  was  a  moment  too  late  to  catch  onto  the  cab ; 
but  he  did  not  propose  to  let  the  man  get  away.  A 
black  boy  was  holding  a  saddled  horse  that  was  wait- 
ing for  its  master  to  take  a  dash  through  the  Park,  and 
the  pursuing  lad  saw  the  animal  was  just  what  he 
needed. 

The  next  instant  the  rein  was  jarked  from  the  black 
boy's  hand,  and  the  horse  went  tearing  down  .Broad- 
Way  and  into  Twenty-third  Street,  Bartley  Stone  in  the 
saddle. 


42  Crooked  Work. 

Yelling  for  people  to  clear  the  way,  the  fugitive  on 
the  cab  stood  up  straight  and  slashed  the  horses  with 
the  whip;  but  the  animals,  encumbered  as  they  were, 
could  not  distance  the  one  in  pursuit.  Bart  quickly 
reached  the  cab,  passed  it,  and  drew  alongside  the  gal- 
loping horses,  for  all  of  the  lashing  the  horses  were 
receiving. 

The  boy  from  the  West  leaned  from  the  saddle  to 
grasp  the  bit  of  the  nearest  animal,  crying: 

"Whoa  up,  thar !  Stand  and  deliver  them  yar  shares ! 
They  belong  to  me,  and  I'm  hyar  to  take  them!" 


Walter's  Downfall.  43 


CHAPTER  VII. 

WALTER'S  DOWNFALL. 

An  angry  snarl  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  fugitive 
thief,  as  he  saw  Bart  Stone  grasp  the  bit  of  the  horse 
nearest  him. 

"No,  you  don't!" 

As  he  ground  the  words  through  his  teeth,  his  whip 
cut  the  air  again,  scoring  on  the  horse's  back.  At  the 
same  moment  he  gave  a  strong  surge  on  one  rein,  liter- 
ally hurling  both  animals  to  the  right  and  against  the 
creature  bestrode  by  the  boy. 

It  was  a  desperate  move,  and,  for  a  moment,  the  re- 
sult that  followed  appeared  like  a  tragedy. 

Bart's  horse  was  sent  to  the  ground  in  a  heap  with 
astounding  suddenness,  and  it  seemed  the  boy  from  the 
West  must  be  hurled  to  the  stones  and  instantly  killed 
or  mained  for  life.  Indeed,  had  he  been  an  ordinary 
lad  who  had  learned  to  ride  a  horse  at  riding  school,  no 
matter  how  well  he  had  acquired  the  art,  a  serious 
catastrophe  could  not  have  been  averted. 

Bart  Stone,  however,  was  not  an  ordinary  lad,  and  he 
had  not  learned  to  ride  at  a  school.  He  was  from  the 
plains  and  mountains;  and  the  cowboys  of  the  Kansas 
ranches  had  taught  him  to  ride  at  highest  speed  across 
the  prairies,  where  there  are  gopher  holes  and  the  bur- 
rows of  prairie  dogs,  into  which  the  leg  of  a  galloping 
horse  may  drop  at  any  moment. 

One  of  the  things  he  had  learned  was  to  be  ready  for 


44  Walter's  Downfall. 

a  horse  to  fall  beneath  him  at  any  time.  Indeed,  in 
his  spare  moments,  he  had  trained  his  own  horse  to 
drop  at  a  signal,  allowing  him  to  shoot  over  its  head. 

No  one  can  tell  when  knowledge  and  skill  thus  ac- 
quired may  prove  of  inestimable  value  to  him;  and  it 
was  certainly  worth  a  great  deal  to  Bart  just  then,  for 
it  enabled  him  to  leap  over  the  head  of  the  falling  horse 
and  strike  lightly  on  his  feet,  unharmed. 

The  cab  thundered  on,  and,  as  the  dismounted  boy 
had  no  time  to  discover  if  the  horse  were  injured,  he 
pursued  it  on  foot,  shouting  to  a  policeman  down  the 
street  to  stop  the  thief. 

The  officer  ran  out  and  made  a  feeble  attempt  to 
check  the  horses ;  but  he  thought  too  much  of  his  life 
to  get  in  the  way  of  actual  danger. 

A  large  crowd  of  people  were  now  rushing  along  the 
street  in  pursuit  of  the  flying  cab,  with  Bart  in  the  van, 
although  the  boy  had  begun  to  fear  the  desperate  thief 
would  make  his  escape. 

As  Third  Avenue  was  reached,  for  all  of  the  skill  of 
the  driver  on  the  cab,  a  collision  occurred.  A  heavy 
truck  was  in  the  way,  and  a  forward  wheel  of  the  cab 
locked  with  a  rear  wheel  of  the  truck. 

Then  followed  a  crash  and  a  smash-up  of  the  most 
startling  nature,  for  the  truck,  cab,  horses  and  men 
seemed  all  mixed  together  in  a  struggling  mass. 

Policemen  rushed  forward  and  grasped  the  horses, 
and  a  great  crowd  seemed  to  spring  from  the  ground 
and  surround  the  spot  in  a  moment. 

Bart  Stone  came  rushing  up  and  literally  tore  his 
way  through  the  throng. 

"Whar  is  he?"  was  his  cry.  "Have  you  roped 
him?" 

"It's  all  right,"  assured  a  man.  "They  have  the 
horses  safe." 


Walter's  Downfall.  45 

"Hang  the  hawses!"  shouted  the  boy.  "Whar's 
the  man  as  was  driving  them?" 

No  one  seemed  to  know,  and  Bart  looked  in  vain  for 
the  slippery  thief.  The  fellow  had  apparently  escaped 
injury  and  vanished  in  the  crowd  when  it  gathered 
around. 

The  boy  from  the  West  was  almost  distracted. 

"I'll  give  a  hundred  dollars  spot  cash  to  know  whar 
the  varmint  has  gone!"  he  cried  wildly. 

"What's  the  matter  with  yer?"  coarsely  asked  one 
of  the  policemen.     "Who  was  the  bloke,  anyway?" 

"A  thief!"  replied  Bart  fiercely.  "A  miserable, 
sneaking  thief!" 

"  What'd  he  stole?" 

"Stocks — shares — certificates — the  White  Hawse 
Mine!  He  did  it  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel!  That's 
how  he  happened  to  be  drivin'  like  a  whole  bunch  of 
steers  on  the  stampede.     I  was  after  him." 

Then  it  came  about  that  a  dozen  people  in  the  crowd 
suddenly  declared,  that  they  had  seen  the  man  go  in  as 
many  different  directions,  and  Bart  realized  there  was 
no  possible  way  to  determine  which  course  the  rascal 
had  chosen. 

This  was  another  terrible  rebuff,  seeming  all  the 
heavier  because  he  had  so  nearly  placed  his  hands  on 
the  coveted  shares.  He  ground  his  teeth,  and  his  face 
wore  a  stern,  hard  look  that  told  how  thoroughly 
aroused  was  his  nature. 

"The  mine  rightfully  belongs  to  my  mother,  and  I'll 
have  them  yar  shares  yet!"  was  his  thought.  "I've 
•bought  them  fair  and  squar';  and  Wilson  can't  back 
out,  for  he  accepted  fifty  dollars  to  bind  the  bargain." 

Neither  of  the  cab  horse3  had  been  seriously  injured, 
and  Bart  explained  to  the  policemen  how  they  were 
taken  from  in  front  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  after 


46  Walter's  Downfall. 

which  he  hurried  back  to  learn  what  had  become  of  the 
animal  he  had  appropriated. 

When  he  reached  the  spot  where  the  horse  had  fallen, 
he  found  it  was  gone,,  and  a  boy  told  him  it  had  been 
taken  to  the  hotel.  Bart  felt  some  relief  at  this,  for  it 
could  not  be  the  creature  had  broken  a  leg  or  received 
any  serious  damage. 

Walking  forward  at  a  swinging  gait,  he  crossed  the 
street,  and  was  soon  on  the  corner,  where  he  could  see 
the  animal  he  had  taken  once  more  standing  before  the 
hotel,  held  by  the  same  black  boy,  while  several  per- 
sons were  looking  it  over,  as  if  searching  for  injuries. 

Bart  did  not  hesitate  about  advancing,  although  a 
premonition  of  trouble  to  follow  suddenly  came  over 
him. 

One  of  the  persons  looking  at  the  horse  was  dressed  in 
a  riding  suit,  being  apparently  the  owner  of  the  animal. 
He  was  talking  to  a  well-dressed  youth,  at  sight  of 
whom  the  boy  from  the  West  set  his  teeth  and  scowled 
slightly,  for  he  recognized  Walter  St.  Omer  Stark. 

"If  you  are  the  owner  of  that  hawse,  mister,  I  have 
to  ask  your  pardon  for  hooking  to  the  critter  so  sudden 
without  so  much  as  asking  leave,"  said  Bart,  as  he 
reached  the  spot. 

The  young  man  in  the  riding  suit  and  Walter  Stark 
suddenly  straightened  up  and  whirled  to  face  the 
speaker. 

"Dat's  de  feller!"  cried  the  black  boy  at  the  horse's 
head;  "dat's  de  feller  dat  took  de  hoss,  sah!" 

"And  he's  the  very  chap  I  said  he  was  when  I  heard 
the  description  of  him!"  broke  from  Walter  Stark's 
lips.  "This  is  not  the  first  time  he  has  taken  a  horse 
without  leave!" 

Bart  flushed  a  bit,  but  paid  no  attention  to  the  mil- 
lionaire's son. 


Walter's  Downfall.  47 

"I  simply  borrowed  your  hawse,  sir,  to  pursue  a 
thief,"  he  calmly  explained.  "There  was  no  time  to 
ask  for  it ;  and  I  reckoned  the  emergency  of  the  case 
pardoned  the  act." 

"Then  you  reckoned  wrong,"  haughtily  returned  the 
young  man.  "Such  an  offense  is  not  pardonable.  If 
you  knew  how  to  ride  a  horse,  it  would  be  somewhat 
different,  but " 

"Stop  right  thar!  I  can  stand  aheap,  but  I  can't 
stand  to  have  a  tenderfoot  tell  me  I  don't  know  how  to 
ride!  That  just  naturally  riles  me  all  up!  I'm  will- 
ing to  pay " 

"Bahl"  scornfully  cut  in  Walter  Stark.  "He 
knows  he's  in  a  bad  box,  and  now  he's  trying  to  sneak 
out  of  it.  Pay!  Why,  it's  a  pure  case  of  theft!  If 
you  let  him  off,  you're  a  chump,  Steinway !" 

Bart's  lips  were  pressed  together  once  more,  but  still 
he  did  not  look  at  young  Stark,  pretending  he  had  not 
heard  a  word  uttered  by  the  vindictive  youth. 

Steinway,  as  Walter  had  called  the  young  man  in 
the  riding  suit,  seemed  spurred  on  by  the  words  of  the 
millionaire's  son;  for  he  took  a  threatening  step  toward 
Bart,  who  stood  quietly  yb,  showing  no  alarm. 

"I  believe  Walt  is  right;  I  believe  you  really  did 
mean  to  swipe  the  horse!"  he  exclaimed. 

"Of  course  he  did!"  insisted  Walter.  "He  stole 
one  belonging  to  Steve  Jones  of  Somerset  Falls  yester- 
day, and  the  sheriff  is  looking  for  him  now.  There  is 
a  warrant  out  for  his  arrest." 

"Do  you  deny  this?"  asked  Steinway. 

"I  deny  stealing  any  man's  hawse,  sir.  I  paid  for 
the  use  of  the  animal." 

"That  won't  go  down!  He  does  not  deny  he  took 
the  animal  without  leave — he  can't  deny  it  without 
lying!     Better  give  him  a  lesson,  Ned." 


48  Walter's  Downfall. 

"Shall  I  have  him  arrested?" 
"Sure." 

"There's  no  policeman  handy." 

"I'll  hold  him  while  you  get  oeo." 

Walter  Stark's  hand  fell  on  Bart's  shoulder,  and 
then  the  boy  from  the  West  looked  at  him  squarely. 
Quite  a  number  of  spectators  were  watching  all  that 
passed. 

"I  an't  done  anything  to  be  arrested  for,  and  I  don't 
reckon  I'll  run;  so  you  can  take  that  tbar  paw  off  my 
shoulder." 

"Not  much !  I  don't  propose  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
sneak,  Mr.  Cow-puncher." 

A  dangerous  light  flashed  in  Bart's  eyes,  which 
usually  wore  a  rather  sleepy  look ;  and  his  voice  had  a 
hard  sound,  as  he  said,  in  a  low  tone: 

"Take  it  off,  or " 

"Or  what?"  sneered  Walter. 

For  reply,  with  one  swift  motion,  the  boy  from  the 
West  struck  the  hand  from  his  shoulder. 

Uttering  a  cry  of  rage,  the  champion  boxer  of  the 
Trojan  Club  delivered  a  sweeping  blow  straight  at 
Bart  Stone's  face,  expecting  to  knock  the  young  cow- 
boy down  with  ease. 

Never  in  his  life  was  he  more  disappointed;  for  the 
boy  from  the  West  easily  ducked  and  avoided  the  blow, 
taking  a  step  to  the  left  and  swinging  his  right  foot 
round  with  an  oblique  movement  that  caught  tho  shins 
of  the  millionaire's  son,  and  sent  him  sprawling  on  the 
sidewalk  of  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel. 


Bart  Stands  by  the  Bargain.  49 


CHAPTER    VIIL 

BART  STANDS  BY  THE   BARGAIN. 

It  had  happened  so  swiftly  that  most  of  the  specta- 
tors were  unable  to  tell  how  it  came  about. 

Walter  Stark,  rather  dazed,  gathered  himself  up  in 
time  to  see  a  young  lady  and  an  elder  companion,  who 
were  passing  at  that  moment,  gazing,  at  him  in  appar- 
ent amazement  and  dismay. 

"Great  heavens  I"  he  faintly  gasped.  "Miss  Van 
Worth!" 

Shamed  and  abashed,  he  turned  his  eyes  away  and 
pretended  he  did  not  see  the  young  lady,  who  passed  on 
and  was  lost  in  the  throng  of  pedestrians. 

Walter  scrambled  to  his  feet,  his  face  ghastly  with 
fury,  quivering  all  over  in  his  excitement.  He  would 
have  flung  himself  at  Bart  once  more,  but  Steinway 
caught  him  by  the  arm,  exclaiming : 

"Letup,  Walt — let  up!  Think  what  you  are  doing 
— fighting  with  a  common  creature  of  that  sort !  You 
are  making  a  public  show  of  yourself!" 

"Let  me  go!"  panted  the  millionaire's  son.  "Let 
me  get  at  him!     I'll  fix  him!" 

Steinway  held  fast,  restraining  the  enraged  lad  by 
main  force,  as  be  again  urged  him  to  think  what  a 
spectacle  he  was  making  of  himself. 

"Don't  be  a  fool,  Walt!"  he  cautioned  sharply. 
"You  will  disgrace  yourself." 

"I  am  disgraced  already!  Miss  Van  Worth  saw 
me!    Let  go,  I  say!" 


50  Bart  Stands  by  the  Bargain. 

He  was  fairly  foaming  in  his  fierce  desire  to  reach 
the  boy  who  had  overthrown  him  thus  easily. 

Bart  Stone  did  not  seem  in  the  least  alarmed;  for  he 
stood  calmly  regarding  the  furious  son  of  the  man  he 
believed  had  swindled  his  mother  out  of  her  rights,  his 
hands  resting  on  his  hips  and  his  attitude  apparently 
one  of  careless  indifference. 

Quite  a  crowd  had  now  collected  about  the  spot,  and,  ; 
after  some  moments,  Steinway  succeeded  in  convinc-  f 
ing  Walter  how  foolishly  he  was  acting. 

"What  if  you  whipped  him,"  whispered  the  young 
man  in  the  riding  suit.  "There'd  be  no  honor  in  it. 
He's  one  of  the  common  herd.     Do  have  a  little  sense !" 

"But  it's  tough  to  have  a  trick  like  that  worked  on 
you  by  such  a  creature!  Think  of  me  tripped  down  in 
this  public  place!  And  seen  by  Miss  Van  Worth! 
What  can  I  tell  her  when  we  meet?     It's  horrible!" 

He  felt  his  humiliation  so  keenly  that  his  chin  quiv- 
ered, and  he  ground  his  white  teeth  together. 

"Move  on  here — move  on!"  called  a  commanding 
voice.     "What's  all  this  mean,  anyway?" 

"An  officer!"  exclaimed  Walter  and  Steinway  to- 
gether. 

"This  way,  sir,"  called  the  young  man,  motioning 
to  the  policeman.     "You  are  wanted." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  man  in  blue,  as  the  specta- 
tors scattered  before  him  and  he  came  forward. 
"What  do  you  want  of  me?" 

"I  want  you  to  arrest  that  young  ruffian;"  and  Stein- 
way pointed  straight  at  Bart,  who  did  not  flinch  or 
appear  frightened  in  the  smallest  degree. 

"This  one,"  questioned  the  officer,  dropping  his  hand 
©n  Bart's  shoulder.     "  What's  he  done?" 

"Assaulted  me,"  replied  Walter  Stark  swiftly. 
"He  struck  mel" 


Bart  Stands  by  the  Bargain.  51 

"That's  crooked,  and  you  know  it,"  broke  in  the  boy 
from  the  West,  speaking  without  any  great  show  of 
excitement.  "You  struck  at  me,  and  I  simply  knocked 
your  hoofs  from  under  you.  I'll  leave  it  to  any  of 
these  people  if  that  thar  an't  so." 

"It  is  true,"  affirmed  several  voices. 

The  policeman  looked  a  trifle  surprised,  but,  seeing 
Walter  was  well  dressed  and  apparently  of  the  better 
class,  he  asked : 

"Do  you  want  to  make  a  charge  of  assault?" 

"No,"  cut  in  Steinway  abruptly;  "but  we  want 
him  arrested,  just  the  same.  I'll  bring  a  charge 
against  him." 

"What  charge?" 

"Theft.  He  attempted  to  steal  my  horse  there  only 
a  short  time  ago.  Take  him  to  the  station  house, 
officer,  and  I  will  appear  against  him." 

Bart  had  opened  his  mouth  to  explain  when  he 
caught  sight  of  a  man  who  was  pressing  his  way 
toward  the  center  of  the  crowd,  and  an  exclamation  of 
satisfaction  escaped  his  lips  as  he  recognized  Ira  D. 
Wilson,  the  agent  and  promoter. 

Wilson  hurried  to  Bart's  side,  panting  as  if  he  had 
recently  exerted  himself  severely. 

"How  did  he  getaway!  Where  did  he  go?"  ques- 
tioned the  agent,  in  perturbation.  "You  did  not  catch 
him?" 

Bart  knew  he  was  speaking  of  the  thief,  and  he 
promptly  replied : 

"I  did  my  best,  Mr.  Wilson;  but  he  got  away  with 
the  stock." 

"Wilson!  Stock!"  almost  shouted  Walter  Stark, 
catching  hold  of  the  promoter.  "Man,  I  thought  you 
were  on  your  way  to  Europe !" 

"Got  left,"  laconically  explained  Wilson. 


52  Bart  Stands  by  the  Bargain. 

"What  is  it  about  stock?"  questioDed  the"millionaire's 
son,  a  suspicion  of  truth  flashing  through  his  mind. 
"I  hope  you  haven't " 

"Sold  the  old  White  Horse  shares  to  this  boy  for 
twenty-five  hundred  dollars.  Great  bargain.  But  a 
thief  ripped  open  my  grip  and  got  away  with  the  cer- 
tificates. Now,  as  I  cannot  deliver,  I  suppose  I'll 
have  to  give  up  the  fifty  he  paid  to  bind  the  trade." 

Walter  Stark  literally  gasped  for  breath. 

"Sold  them!"  he  panted.  "Why,  the  vein  has  been 
re-located !  That's  what  brought  this  boy  here  to  buy 
it!  Stolen!  Well,  by  Jupiter!  you  have  made  a 
pretty  mess,  Wiison!" 

The  promoter  looked  thunderstruck,  being  unable  to 
utter  a  word  for  some  seconds.     Finally,   he  faintly 
gasped : 
"Impossible!" 

"It's  true,"  asserted  Walter  savagely.  "The  shares 
were  intrusted  in  your  care,  and  jtou  are  responsible  for 
them.  If  they  are  lost,  you'll  find  yourself  in  a  pretty 
box." 

"Well,  they  are  lost  for  the  present,"  confessed  the 
agent,  nervously  twisting  his  red  mustache;  "but  the 
police  may  be  able  to  recover  them." 

Then  he  produced  a  roll  of  banknotes,  from  which  he 
extracted  a  fifty-dollar  bill,  turning  and  tendering  it  to 
Bart,  observing: 

"As  I  cannot  deliver  the  stock,  I'll  have  to  give  you 
back  your  deposit." 

The  boy  from  the  West  drew  back. 

"No,  mister,"  he  said;  "a  trade's  a  trade,  aDd  I 
don't  back  out  none  whatever.  Keep  the  fifty,  and  I'll 
pa3r  the  rest  and  take  the  shares  when  they're  found. 
I  reckon  that  thar's  about  the  right  way  to  do  this 
business." 


Bart  Stands  by  the  Bargain.  53 

''Make  him  take  it  back — make  him  take  it!"  cried 
Walter  excitedly.  "He  can't  have  those  shares  at 
any  price!" 

"I  kinder  'low  you're  too  late  to  head  off  this  yar 
trade,"  smiled  Bart,  with  no  small  amount  of  satisfac- 
tion. "It's  made  now,  and  thar  can't  be  no  going  back 
on  it." 

"No  writings  have  been  made,  and  the  stock  is  not 
delivered  yet.  It's  no  bargain  at  all.  Give  him  the 
fifty,  Mr.  Wilson." 

The  young  cowboy  put  his  hands  behind  him,  a 
determined  look  on  his  somewhat  stolid  face. 

"I'm  a  little  slow,"  he  drawled;  "but  I  an't  the  big- 
gest fool  this  side  of  Oklahoma — not  by  two  yards," 
his  eyes  measuring  the  distance  between  himself  and 
the  millionaire's  son. 

At  this  Walter  flushed  hotly  and  clinched  his  hands, 
taking  a  slight  step  forward,  to  be  checked  by  Stein- 
way. 

"You  must  accept  the  money,"  insisted  Wilson. 

"Wa-al,  I  won't;  and  that  yar' s  the  whole  bigness 
of  it,"  was  the  retort.  "I  call  on  these  yar  people  to 
take  notice  this  man  has  acknowledged  the  bargain  fair 
and  squar'.     I  propose  to  make  him  stand  by  it." 

"That's  right!  That's  right!"  came  from  several 
quarters. 

Seeing  sympathy  was  with  the  boy,  Wilson  suddenly 
abandoned  the  attempt  to  force  the  money  on  him, 
saying: 

"We'll  settle  this  matter  some  other  time." 

"In  the  meantime,"  put  in  Ned  Stein  way,  "I  charge 
this  young  scoundrel  with  attempting  to  steal  my  horse, 
and  ask  that  he  be  arrested.  I  will  appear  against  him. 
Here,  officer,  is  my  name  and  address,"  handing  the 
policeman  an  engraved  card. 


54  Bart  Stands  by  the  Bargain. 

"All  right,  sir,"  said  the  officer,  respectfully  as 
soon  as  he  had  glanced  at  the  card.  "I'll  take  him  in. 
Come  along,  young  feller." 

Bart  was  marched  away  to  the  station  house  followed 
by  quite  a  throng  of  people,  who  looked  curiously  at 
the  strangely  dressed  boy  in  the  policeman's  charge. 


Unmasking  the  Thief.  55 


CHAPTER  IX. 

UNMASKING   THE  THIEF. 

It  must  be  confessed  Bart  felt  rather  downcast  when 
he  found  himself  locked  up  in  a  wretched  room  in  com- 
pany with  a  "common  drunk."  He  wondered  what 
the  result  of  it  all  would  be,  and  he  felt  his  situation 
might  be  serious;  for  the  enemies  pitted  against  him 
were  both  wealthy  and  influential,  as  well  as  unprinci- 
pled. 

Many  times  he  had  listened  to  his  mother's  story 
about  how  Cyrus  Stark  had  cheated  her  out  of  her 
rights;  and  he  had  learned  to  hate  the  man  who  could 
be  guilty  of  deliberately  wronging  a  woman  like  his 
beloved  mother. 

He  did  not  doubt  that  Stark  was  an  abject  scoundrel; 
and  he  had  come  East  convinced  it  was  his  duty  to  get 
the  best  of  the  man  in  some  manner,  and  regain  posses- 
sion of  the  mine  that  Mrs.  Stone  had  been  swindled  out 
of  at  her  husband's  death. 

Although  Bart  was  rather  unsophisticated  and  hardly 
fitted  to  deal  with  shrewd  business  men,  he  was  getting 
his  eyes  open  with  a  rapidity  that  startled  himself. 
He  saw  it  was  to  be  a  bitter  fight;  and  it  was  his  re- 
solve to  never  give  up  while  there  was  the  shadow  of 
hope. 

He  wondered  if  Steinway  and  Walter  would  be  able 
to  do  anything  with  him  for  appropriating  the  horse  to 
his  use  in  pursuing  the  thief;  and  it  is  certain  he  felt 


56  Unmasking  the  Thief. 

rather  "shaky"  when  he  considered  his  position  and 
their  apparent  power. 

He  lay  down  and  tried  to  sleep;  but  the  snoring  of  the 
intoxicated  man  and  the  earnest  attention  of  certain 
lively  little  insects  in  the  bunk  made  it  impossible  for 
him  to  rest. 

At  length  he  was  brought  into  court  and  found  him- 
self before  the  judge.  No  one  appeared  against  him,  and 
his  honor  directed  that  he  be  taken  to  a  cell  and  kept 
until  the  following  day. 

Bart  spent  a  most  wretched  night,  and  he  was  glad 
when  morning  came  once  more. 

Before  nine  o'clock  the  boy  was  surprised  to  receive 
a  call  from  the  lawyer,  Jubal  Heep. 

"Well,  young  man,"  said  the  crafty  attorney,  rub- 
bing his  nose  with  his  forefinger;  "you  seem  to  be  in 
trouble." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  returned  the  boy,  as  coolly  as 
possible.     "I  managed  to  get  a  free  night's  lodging." 

"It  is  possible  you  are  not  aware  how  serious  the 
situation  really  is,"  ventured  Mr.  Heep,  in  his  most 
insinuating  way.  "You  are  liable  to  receive  a  long 
sentence." 

"For  what?" 

"Well,"  mysteriously  answered  the  lawyer,  "I 
understand  a  very  grave  charge  is  to  be  brought 
against  you." 

"Wa-al,  if  it  an't  a  secret,  I  wouldn't  mind  know- 
ing just  about  how  the  land  lays,  mister." 

"The  shares  were  stolen  from  Mr.  Wilson  while  you 
were  in  the  hotel." 

"I  reckon  that's  right." 

"It  is  said  you  are  an  accomplice  of  the  thief." 

"Wh-a-a-at?" 

Bart  was  so  astonished  he  could  no  more  than  gasp 


Unmasking  the  Thief.  57 

forth  the  word;  but  he  almost  immediately  began  to 
laugh  heartily. 

"You  are  pretty  sure  to  discover  it  is  no  laughing 
matter,  young  man,"  sharply  assured  Jubal  Heep. 
"It  looks  rather  black  for  you." 

"Wa-al,  of  all  the  things  I  ever  heard,  that  yar  just 
about  lays  over  the  lot!" 

"  You  will  find  it  is  no  fooling  affair,  boy.  If  the 
charge  is  proved  against  you,  you  will  get  five  years 
at  least.  I  am  a  lawyer,  and  I  know  what  I'm  talk- 
ing about." 

Bart  was  suddenly  serious  once  more,  as  he  3aid : 

"Look  hyar,  Mr.  Heep,  how  is  a  feller  to  steal  what 
rightfully  belongs  to  him?     Tell  me  that." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"That  them  thar  shares  are  mine  by  right  of  bargain, 
fair  and  squar'.     I  couldn't  steal  them." 

"Oh,  that  won't  hold  water,  my  lad!  You  have 
simply  paid  fifty  dollars,  and  the  charge  is  that  you 
plotted  to  have  the  stock  stolen,  so  you  could  escape 
paying  the  balance.  You  played  your  part  very  well, 
Wilson  says;  but  he  is  certain  you  stood  in  with  the 
thief." 

A  look  of  anger  settled  on  the  face  of  the  boy  from 
the  West,  and  his  sleepy  eyes  suddenly  flashed. 

"So  that  yar  Wilson  stands  up  for  the  rest  of  the 
crooked  gang!"  he  cried.  "I  didn't  expect  anything 
better  of  a  man  as  makes  swindling  his  profession! 
But  I  an't  beat  on  this  trial,  yet,  by  a  heap  sight;  and 
they're  going  to  have  a  right  smart  tussle  to  get  ahead 
of  me.  I'll  fight  right  plum  through  to  the  grand 
round-up!" 

"You  are  very  foolish,"  assured  Heep,  scowling  and 
rubbing  his  beak  excitedly.  "You'll  get  the  worst  of 
it,  as  sure  as  fate.     You  are  nothing  but  a  boy,  and  that 


58  Unmasking-  the  Thief. 

without  friends  in  this  city,  while  the  ones  you  are  try- 
ing to  heat  are  rich  and  powerful. 

"Now,  look  here,"  he  went  on.     "I  can  get  you  out 
of  this  scrape,  if  you'll  let  me.     Just  do  what  I  want 
you  to,  and  I'll  guarantee  you  will  not  be  prosecuted." 
"Wa-al,  what  you  want  me  to  do?" 
"Accept  this  money  and  sign  this  paper." 
Heep  held  out  a  bill  and  a  written  document ;  but 
Bart  accepted  only  the  latter. 

Hastily  the  boy  ran  his  eyes  over  the  paper,  and  he 
quickly  discovered  it  was  a  document  stating  he  gave 
over  all  claim  to  the  stock  of  the  White  Horse  Mine. 
"What's  your  answer?"  eagerly  asked  Heep. 
"This!" 

With  that  one  word,  the  undaunted  boy  tore  the 
paper  in  two  pieces,  which  he  crumpled  and  cast  the 
scheming  lawyer's  feet. 

"All  right!"  shouted  Heep,  as  he  picked  up  the 
pieces  and  retreated  from  the  cell.  "You'll  be  sorry 
for  this!  You're  only  a  boy,  and  the  trade  won't 
stand,  anyway!  Perhaps  you  think  you're  smart;  but 
you'll  change  your  mind  before  you  are  a  week  older!" 
When  he  was  once  more  left  to  himself,  Bart's  anger 
cooled,  and  he  finally  smiled  in  a  grim  way  over  the 
rage  of  the  defeated  lawyer.  Within  an  hour  he  was 
again  taken  to  the  courtroom,  and,  when  his  case  was 
called,  to  his  astonishment,  the  judge  promptly  dis- 
missed the  whole  matter,  saying : 

"Young  man,  you  may  consider  yourself  very  for- 
tunate to  have  a  wealthy  and  influential  friend  to  get 
you  out  of  such  a  bad  scrape.     You  may  go." 

Bart  turned  from  the  bench,  vaguely  wondering  who 
his  mysterious  friend  could  be,  but  inclined  to  believe 
this  was  simply  an  excuse  of  his  enemies  for  not  press- 
ing the  charge  against  him. 


Unmasking  the  Thief.  59 

As  he  left  the  building,  he  noticed  a  black-whiskered 
man  who  started  to  follow  him — or  seemed  to  do  so. 

Seeing  he  was  observed,  this  man  pretended  to  be 
highly  interested  in  reading  a  theatrical  poster  on  a 
dead  wall;  and  Bart  walked  swiftly  on. 

The  boy  had  resolved  to  proceed  directly  to  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel  and  have  a  talk  with  Ira  Wilson,  so  he 
took  the  first  car  bound  in  the  right  direction.  As  he 
sat  down  within  the  car,  he  was  surprised  to  see  the 
black- whiskered  man  run  from  the  curbing  and  swing 
on  the  rear  platform. 

'-'Wonder  if  he's  trailing  [me?"  thought  Bart. 
"Blamed  if  it  don't  look  that  yar  way !  Maybe  they've 
put  a  detective  after  me." 

Instead  of  alarming  him,  the  thought  made  him 
angry;  and  he  fell  to  watching  the  man.  It  did  not 
take  him  long  to  decide  the  black  beard  was  false. 

When  he  left  the  car  and  hurried  toward  the  Fifth 
Avenue  Hotel,  he  was  fully  aware  the  man  still  fol- 
lowed him. 

Reaching  the  hotel,  he  boldly  entered,  approached 
the  clerk's  desk  and  asked  for  Mr.  Ira  Wilson. 

"He  is  not  here,"  haughtily  asserted  the  clerk. 

"Not  here?"  gasped  Bart. 

"No.     He  left  last  night." 

"Where — where  did  he  go?" 

"I  don't  know.  Please  step  aside  for  that  "gentle- 
man." 

The  boy  left  the  desk  and  slowly  walked  out  of  the 
hotel,  scarcely  knowing  which  way  to  turn.  He  wan- 
dered along  from  street  to  street,  hardly  heeding 
whither  his  footsteps  were  taking  him. 

All  at  once,  he  remembered  the  black-whiskered 
man  and  looked  back. 

The  strange  individual  was  still  following  him, 


60  Unmasking  the  Thief. 

"I  will  just  know  what  that  yar  face  under  them 
whiskers  looks  like,"  muttered  Bart,  as  be  swiftly 
turned  a  corner  and  then  halted  to  await  the  man's  ap- 
pearance. 

He  had  to  wait  but  a  few  seconds,  and  when  the 
owner  of  the  black  beard  came  suddenly  around  the 
corner,  the  boy  stepped  forward  and  confronted  him, 
crying: 

"Look  hyar,  what  for  are  you  follering  me  round?" 

"Following  you?"  repeated  the  stranger,  with  ap- 
parent astonishment.  "You  have  made  a  mistake, 
young  fellow!" 

"Have  I?  Wa-al,  I  wonder  what  you  carry  behind 
them  thar  whiskers?"  With  a  swift  snatch,  he  tore 
the  false  beard  from  the  man's  face. 

A  cry  of  mingled  astonishment  and  triumph  broke 
from  his  lips;  for  the  features  revealed  were  those  of 
the  thief  who  had  stolen  the  coveted  shares  of  the 
White  Horse  Minel 


A  Startling  Assertion.  61 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  STARTLING  ASSERTION. 

"The  thief!" 

This  exclamation  broke  from  Bart's  lips,  as  he 
clutched  excitedly  at  the  man's  arm. 

"'Sh!"  cautioned  the  individual  who  had  been  thus 
unmasked.     "You'll  attract  attention,  kid!" 

"Wa-al,  that  thar's  just  what  I  want  to  do,"  hotly 
returned  the  boy  from  the  West.  "  I  want  to  attract 
the  attention  of  a  policeman." 

"Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself!"  snapped  the  man. 
"I'm  your  friend." 

A  look  of  scorn  swept  across  the  lad's  face,  and  he 
quickly  returned : 

"Waal,  not  to  any  great  extent!  I  don't  make 
pards  of  such  galoots  as  you." 

"Wait,"  urged  the  stranger — "wait  till  you  hear 
what  I  have  to  say." 

"I  don't  reckon  you  can  say  anything  that'll  make 
you  any  less  a  thief  and  a  sneak.  I  kind  of  'low  you 
want  to  talk  so  you  can  find  a  chance  to  give  me  the 
slip.     No,  Mr.  Thief,  that  thar  game  won't  work." 

"But  you  are  dead  wrong,  boy.  What'do  you  s'pose 
I  was  following  you  around  for  if  I  didn't  want  a 
chance  to  talk  with  you?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"I  was  waiting  until  I  found  a  good  chance  to  speak 
to  you  without  attracting  the  notice  of  anybody. 
There's  some  blokes  staring  at  U3  now  on  the  opposite 


62  A  Startling-  Assertion. 

side  of  the  street.  Come  into  this  hash  shop,  where  we 
can  sit  down  and  talk  across  a  table.  You  can  keep 
watch  of  me  and  grab  me,  if  I  try  to  sneak." 

Bart  hesitated. 

"  What  if  I  was  seen  having  a  powwow  with  you, 
stranger?"  he  said.  "They  say  now  that  I  am  a  side- 
pard  of  yours  on  this  crooked  piece  of  business;  and 
they'd  have  what  would  look  like  proof  if  we  were  seen 
together.     No,  I " 

"I  can  tell  you  some  things  that  will  knock  you 
silly,"  cut  in  the  man.  "I  know  a  few  points  about 
the  White  Horse  Mine,  your  father  and  Mr.  Cyrus 
Stark." 

The  boy  felt  a  strong  desire  to  hear  what  this  strange 
thief  had  to  say;  and  he  finally  yielded  to  it,  following 
the  man  into  the  restaurant,  where  they  sat  down  at  a 
little  side  table  in  a  corner. 

Bart  was  hungry;  but  the  excitement  of  having  found 
the  thief  had  driven  all  thoughts  of  eating  from  his 
mind.  However,  when  the  man  coolly  gave  an  order 
from  the  bill  of  fare,  the  lad  decided  to  have  some- 
thing, and  he  called  for  a  roast,  with  vegetables. 

All  the  while,  he  was  studying  the  face  of  the  thief, 
who  seemed  quite  unconcerned  and  at  his  ease.  More 
than  ever  did  the  man's  features  seem  familiar  to  Bart; 
but  if  he  had  ever  seen  the  fellow  before,  he  could  not 
remember  just  when  and  where.  The  stranger  took 
note  of  this  scrutiny,  and  he  finally  asked : 

"Can  you  £lace  me  now?" 

Bart  shook  his  head. 

"Not  quite,"  he  confessed;  "and  yet  I'm  pretty  sure 
this  yere  an't  the  first  time  we've  met." 

"You're  right,  young  feller.     I'm  Buck  Prindle." 

But  that  name  did  not  bring  any  light  to  Bart's 
mind,  as  the  blank  look  on  his  face  plainly  indicated. 


A  Startling  Assertion.  63 

The  food  they  had  ordered  was  now  placed  before  them, 
and  Mr.  Prindle  began  eating  at  once,  appearing  very 
hungry.  The  aroma  of  the  roast  and  coffee  reawak- 
ened the  boy's  appetite,  and  he  was  not  long  in  follow- 
ing the  man's  example,  although  his  mind  was  busy 
with  a  jumbled  mass  of  ideas,  which,  nevertheless,  did 
not  cause  him  to  relax  in  the  least  his  vigilant  watch 
over  the  thief. 

All  at  once,  when  he  had  partially  satisfied  his 
hunger,  he  was  struck  forcibly  by  the  singularity  of 
the  situation  and  the  thought  that  he  was  eating  at  a 
table  with  a  man  whom  he  knew  to  be  crooked. 

"Say,"  and  he  put  down  his  fork,  looking  the  other 
square  in  the  face,  "I  reckon  I'm  daft  to  be  doing  a 
thing  like  this  yere.  I  came  in  hyar  to  listen  to  what 
you've  got  to  say,  and  if  that  yar's  anything,  spit  her 
out  mighty  smart.  I'm  going  to  tell  a  waiter  to  call 
an  officer  right  away  soon." 

Mr.  Prindle  deliberately  took  a  drink  of  coffee,  and 
then  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  after 
which  he  said: 

"I  s'pose  you  want  to  know  why  I  swiped  them  cer- 
tificates?" 

"Wa-al,  I  wouldn't  object." 

"I  used  to  work  for  your  father  in  the  old  mine." 

"Then  that  explains  why  you  looked  natural  to  me. 
I  must  have  seen  you  some  time  in  them  thar  days." 

Prindle  nodded. 

"Dead  sure,  kid.  I've  seen  you  lots  of  times,  though 
you  have  changed  amazingly  in  the  last  four  years." 

"But  this  don't  explain  why  you  corraled  the  stock." 

"I'm  just  on  this  way  from  Colorader.  I  went 
through  the  mine  two  weeks  ago." 

Bart  caught  his  breath  sharply,  while  Buck  Prindle 
grinned  in  a  knowing  way. 


64  A  Startling  Assertion. 

"What  did  you  find  thar?"  slowly  questioned  the 
boy. 

"I  found  where  some  bloke  had  put  in  a  blast  and 
blowed  down  a  few  tons  of  rock." 

"Wa-al?" 

"I  was  brought  up  in  a  city,"  Prindle  went  on; 
"but  the  time  I  spent  in  the  old  mine  when  your  father 
an'  Stark  were  workin'  her,  fixed  me  so  I  can  tell  pay 
ore  when  I  see  it.  I  found  that  blast  had  ripped  its 
way  right  slap  into  a  rich  lead.  My  eyes  told  me  that; 
but  I  scooped  some  of  the  stuff  an'  took  it  to  Denver  to 
be  assayed.  As  soon  as  I  heard  the  result,  I  swore  I'd 
have  the  White  Horse  Mine  by  hook  or  crook." 

Bart  pressed  his  lips  together,  and  watched  the  man 
closely,  but  said  nothing,  while  the  miner  continued: 

"I  didn't  have  more  than  enough  wealth  to  buy  a 
second-class  ticket  to  New  York;  but  I  came  right 
along,  countin'  on  scoopin'  that  stock,  all  the  time. 
Mebbe  you  wonder  how  I  expected  to  do  the  trick. 
Well,  I  knew  it  would  not  be  very  hard  if  old  Stark 
still  owned  the  shares,  for  I  have  a  double  and  twisted 
grip  on  the  sinner,  though  he  didn't  expect  to  be 
troubled  by  me  for  the  next  eight  or  nine  years,  as  he 
supposes  I'm  servin'  a  ten  years'  sentence  in  Joliet." 

Prindle's  face  began  to  work  with  passion,  and  there 
was  a  fierce  look  in  his  eyes,  as  he  ground  through  his 
teeth : 

"The  sneakin'  traitor!  Since  I  :was  pardoned  out, 
three  months  ago,  I've  found  it  was  his  money  that 
procured  my  conviction  for  breakin'  an'  enterin'  in 
Chicago.  And  all  the  time  he  was  pretendin'  to  be  my 
friend!  When  I  was  sure  of  this,  I  swore  I'd  get 
square  with  the  old  villain  some  way;  and  I'll  do  it! 
I'll  make  him  beg  before  I'm  done,  or  my  name  an't 
Buck  Prindle! 


A  Startling-  Assertion.  65 

When  I  got  to  New  York,  I  discovered  he  was  out  of 
town  somewhere,  and  then,  by  diggin'  around,  I  found 
out  Jubal  Heep  was  his  lawyer,  and  had  charge  of  the 
shares  I  wanted.  I  went  to  Beep's  office.  The  door 
was  open,  an'  I  stepped  in.  Heep  was  in  the  back 
room  with  Mr.  Ira  Wilson,  and  they  didn't  hear  me 
come  in.  I  laid  low  and  heard  the  job  put  up  to  stick  the 
supposed-to-be  worthless  stock  on  the  Britishers.  Then 
I  slipped  out  an'  follered  Wilson  when  he  showed  up, 
waiting  for  my  chance  to  swipe  his  grip.  I  knew  if  I 
could  get  hold  of  the  stock  I  had  a  way  to  make  Stark 
relinquish  his  claim  on  it  to  me,  but,  at  the  same  time, 
I  was  just  as  sure  Wilson  would  not  turn  it  over  if  I 
struck  him  for  it. 

"Well,  I  just  followed  that  agent  everywhere 
he  went,  and  I  was  in  the  smash-up  over  in  Jer- 
sey. Then  I  shadowed  him  to  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel  and  saw  the  number  of  his  room  on  the  register. 
That  was  when  I  noticed  you  the  first  time,  an'  you 
looked  natural,  though  I  couldn't  just  place  ye  then. 
I  sneaked  up  the  stairs,  and  waited  till  Wilson  left  the 
room.  Havin'  a  rig  of  skeleton  keys,  it  didn't  take  me 
long  to  open  the  door  after  he  went  down;  but  I  barely 
got  out,  as  you  an'  he  came  up  together.  You  can 
wager  your  wealth  I  lost  no  time  in  gettin'  downstairs; 
but  I  was  stopped  and  questioned  about  my  business 
there.  That  gave  you  time  to  get  down  and  see  me 
goin'  out.     You  know  the  rest." 

Bart  had  listened  attentively,  and  he  now  observed : 

"Wa-al,  Mr.  Prindle,  you  may  have  told  the  squar9 
truth;  but  I  kinder  think  you  took  a  right  crooked  way 
of  getting  hold  of  the  shares.  You're  a  thief,  and  you 
can't  get  around  that  none  whatever." 

"I'm  simply  gettin'  square  with  old  Cy  Stark  foi 
the  dirty  deal  he  played  me." 


66  A  Startling  Assertion. 

"Them  thar  shares  don't  belong  to  Mr.  Stark  any 
more.  I've  bought  them  for  twenty-five  hundred  dol- 
lars, and  paid  down  fifty  to  bind  the  bargain ;  so  you 
were  really  stealing  from  me." 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  this;  an'  I've  got  a  proposal  to 
make." 

"What  is  it?" 

"That  you  pay  the  rest  of  the  money  an'  agree  to 
take  your  chances  on  recoverin'  the  stock." 

"What  then?" 

"You'll  get  it  all  right,  if  you'll  agree  to  give  me 
half  interest  in  the  mine.  That's  a  fair  offer,  an'  you 
can't  refuse." 

"Wa-al,  I  do  refuse,  all  the  same;  for  I  don't  pro- 
pose to  go  into  partnership  with  ary  galoot  of  your 
caliber,  Mr.  Prindle;"  and  the  boy  arose  to  his  feet. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do?"  asked  the  man. 

"I'm  going  to  see  an  officer  is  called  in,  and  direct 
him  to  arrest  3'ou  instanter,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

Prindle  was  really  alarmed,  for  he  realized  the  boy 
from  the  West  would  not  be  easily  turned  from  his  de- 
termination ;  and,  though  he  claimed  to  have  a  hold  on 
Stark,  he  had  no  desire  to  give  the  man  another  oppor- 
tunity to  send  him  to  jail  by  means  of  his  money  and 
influence. 

"Say!"  he  gasped;  "hold  on  a  minute!" 

Bart  was  looking  around  to  catch  the  eye  of  a  waiter, 
and  the  ex-convict  hastily  continued  : 

"You  want  ter  get  a  grip  on  old  Stark  yourself;  an* 
I  can  tell  you  something  that'll  fix  you  so  you'll  have 
him  foul — something  about  your  father." 

He  saw  he  had  struck  the  right  note,  for  Bart  hesi- 
tated and  turned  toward  him  asking: 

"  What  do  you  know  about  Mr,  Stark's  dealings  with 
my  father?" 


A  Startling  Assertion.  67 

"Well,  I  know  more'n  you  dream — I  even  know  he 
beat  your  mother  out  of  her  rights  after  your  dad 
croaked." 

"You  say  you  know  this;  but  how  do  you  know  so 
much?" 

"Set  down,"  urged  the  man.  "I'll  tell  you  some 
things  that'll  make  your  hair  stand.  I  was  in  the 
mine  when  your  father  was  killed;  an'  I  know  just 
how  it  happened." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  hidden  meaning  in  Prindle's 
words,  and  Bart  Stone  felt  his  heart  give  a  sudden  leap. 
Now  he  was  eager  to  have  the  miner  continue,  for  it 
seemed  possible  the  fellow  really  could  reveal  some- 
thing of  importance. 

The  man  saw  that  he  had  aroused  the  lad's  curios- 
ity, and  he  added : 

"I  an'  one  other  was  the  last  ones  to  see  your  father 
alive,  kid.  Do  you  know  just  how  he  came  to  his 
death?" 

"I  know  he  was  killed  by  a  premature  blast.  It 
was  a  terrible  accident!" 

"Accident!"  returned  Buck  Prindle,  scornfully 
"Let  me  tell  you  your  father  wasn't  killed  by  accident, 
young  feller  1" 


68  Trying  to  Get  at  the  Truth. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

TRYING  TO  GET  AT  THE  TRUTH. 

The  words  struck  Bart  Stone  like  a  blow  in  the  face; 
and  Lhe  turned  ghastly  pale,  staring  in  speechless  hor- 
ror at  the  man  who  had  given  them  utterance. 

"Not  killed  by  accident?"  he  finally  managed  to 
gasp. 

"That's  what  I  said,"  nodded  the  ex-convict. 

The  usually  slow  and  deliberate  lad  leaned  across 
the  table,  and,  like  a  flash,  his  fingers  closed  with  a 
grip  of  iron  on  Prindle's  wrist. 

"Man,"  he  panted,  shaking  with  emotion;  "do  you 
understand  the  full  meaning  of  them  thar  words?" 

The  miner  looked  startled  by  the  strange  manner  of 
the  boy,  shrinking  back.  Bart's  eyes  were  filled  with 
a  wild  light,  and  the  clasp  of  his  fingers  revealed  to 
Prindle  that  the  boy  was  the  possessor  of  remarkable 
strength. 

"Do  you  know  what  you  have  said?"  came  hoarsely 
from  the  lad's  lips. 

"Of  course  I  do,"  mumbled  the  one  questioned. 

"What  did  you  mean?" 

"Just  that." 

"My  father  did  not  commit  suicide?" 

"Of  course  he  didn't." 

"Then  thar's  only  one  meaning  to  be  put  to  what 
you  just  said." 

Prindle  was  silent,  a  look  of  fear  stealing  over  his 
face;  for  he  realized  what  was  coming. 


Trying  to  Get  at  the  Truth.  69 

"If  my  father  was  not  killed  by  accident  and  did  not 
commit  suicide,"  the  boy  went  on,  his  voice  now 
sounding  hard  and  restrained;  "there  is  but  one  ex- 
planation of  his  death.     He  was  murdered!" 

It  was  the  ex-convict's  turn  to  grow  pale,  for  the 
word  smote  on  his  ear  with  the  staggering  force  of  a 
fearful  accusation.  The  man  began  to  feel  that,  in  his 
eagerness  to  keep  the  boy  from  turning  him  over  to  the 
police,  he  had  allowed  his  lips  to  utter  too  much. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  the  lad's  eyes  leave  the  face  of 
Buck  Prindle;  and  they  seemed  to  pierce  the  man 
through  and  through  with  their  burning  intensity. 
The  miner  began  to  understand  the  resistless  force  of 
this  boy's  nature  and  will-power,  seeing  he  had  given 
him  a  clew  that  would  be  followed  up  until  the  whole 
black  truth  became  known. 

"Is  that  yar  right?"  demanded  Bart  fiercely. 
"Speak  up  and  tell  what  you  know!" 

"Seems  to  me  you're  crowdin'  the  mourners,"  rather 
feebly  returned  Prindle. 

"Speak!"  commanded  the  lad.  "You  can't  turn 
tail  and  go  back  over  the  trail  now.     It's  too  late." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  back  on  anything;  but  I  didn't 
say  your  dad  was — was  murdered." 

"You  might  as  well;  your  words  meant  that.  Look 
hyar,  I'm  bound  to  have  the  whole  of  it  now,  Mr. 
Prindle;  and  you  may  as  well  tell  me  just  what  you 
know.     If  you  can  prove  what  you've  said " 

"What?" 

"Wa-al,  I'll  see  that  you  are  paid  for  it  as  you  ought 
to  be.     That's  squar'." 

It  might  be  square ;  but  the  words  struck  Buck  with 
a  meaning  the  boy  had  not  intended  they  should  convey. 
If  he  received  what  he  merited,  even  a  full  confession 
might  not  clear  him  from  the  grasp  of  the  law. 


jo  Trying  to  Get  at  the  Truth. 

The  lad  saw  Prindle  was  hesitating,  and  he  began  to 
fear  the  man  would  go  back  on  what  he  had  already 
said ;  yet  he  knew  not  just  how  to  wring  a  further  con- 
fession from  his  lips.  His  hand  went  around  to  his  hip 
with  an  unconscious  movement;  but  the  holsters  were 
empty,  so  his  fingers  did  not  close  on  the  butt  of  a 
ready  weapon. 

The  miner  saw  the  movement,  and  it  aroused  his  re- 
sentment. 

"Would  you  pull  a  gun  on  me?"  he  asked  hotly. 
"I  can  be  led,  but  hanged  if  I'll  be  drove!" 

"Take  your  choice — talk,  or  I  call  the  police!"  reso- 
lutely returned  the  boy  from  the  West.  "It's  plain 
you  know  something  I  have  a  right  to  hear." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so,  kid,"  half  sneered  Prindle, 
seeking  to  regain  his  composure.  "Mebbe  you'll  make 
a  trade  with  me  now,  eh?" 

"What  kind  of  a  trade?" 

"You  know  what  I  want." 

"What?" 

"A  half  interest  in  the  mine." 

Bart  pressed  his  lips  together,  remaining  silent  for 
some  seconds.     Finally,  he  said : 

"Do  you  reckon  I'll  make  a  trade  of  any  kind  with 
such  a  crooked  galoot  as  you  have  acknowledged  your- 
self to  be?" 

"You'll  have  to,  if  you  get  anything  further  out  of 
me,  young  feller." 

"And  if  I  should  be  fool  enough,  how  do  I  know  this 
yar  yarn  amounts  to  anything?  You  said  you  could 
give  me  a  grip  on  Stark." 

"That's  what  I  meant." 

"What  kind  of  a  grip — what  did  he  have  to  do  with 
my  father's  death?" 

"A  good  deal." 


Trying  to  Get  at  the  Truth.  71 

"But  what?" 

"If  I  told  ye,  you'd  know,"  replied  Prindle,  with  a 
leer.  "I  an't  that  big  a  fool.  If  you're  ready  to 
make  a  bargain,  maybe  I'll  talk." 

The  lad  had  no  intention  of  entering  into  such  a  con- 
tract with  this  self-confessed  crook  and  convict;  and  he 
considered  just  how  he  could  force  the  miner  to  tell  the 
truth  concerning  Norman  Stone's  death. 

That  he  had  struck  a  trail  which  might  lead  to  aston- 
ishing and  momentous  results  he  scarcely  had  a  doubt. 
There  had  always  seemed  something  singular  and  in- 
explicable about  the  manner  of  his  father's  death;  and 
now  it  seemed  this  man  could  clear  away  the  clouds,  if 
he  were  inclined  to  do  so. 

"Look  hyar,"  Bart  finally  said;  "I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do.     If  you " 

At  this  moment  he  was  interrupted  by  a  terrible  up- 
roar in  the  front  of  the  restaurant.  Loud  words  were 
uttered,  a  table  was  upset,  amid  a  crash  of  breaking 
crockery,  and  then  two  of  the  waiters  were  seen  vigor- 
ously mauling  each  other. 

Naturally,  the  boy  from  the  West  turned  to  see  what 
all  the  racket  was  about,  and,  when  the  combatants 
were  parted,  he  suddenly  bethought  himself  of  the 
necessity  of  keeping  his  eyes  on  Buck  Prindle. 

He  wheeled  around  quickly,  to  make  the  astonishing 
discovery  that  the  ex-convict  had  disappeared ! 


</3  The  Cast  for  Life. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

the  cast  for  life. 

"Gone!" 

For  an  instant,  Bart  was  almost  paralyzed  with 
amazement;  but  he  swiftly  recovered. 

"Didn't  go  out  front,  so  he  must  have  gone — this 
wayV 

With  one  bound,  he  dashed  behind  a  screen  and  saw 
a  door  that  led  to  the  room  where  the  cooking  was  done. 
Into  this  room  he  darted,  to  find  himself  face  to  face 
with  a  German  cook,  who  was  dressed  in  rather  soiled 
white  outer  garments. 

"A  man  came  in  hyar!"  cried  the  lad.  "Running 
like  a  hawse  with  a  burr  under  its  saddle!  Which 
way'd  he  go?" 

"Out  dot  door,"  calmly  replied  the  cook,  pointing  to 
an  open  door  that  led  into  a  back  alley. 

Through  the  doorway  leaped  Bart,  his  eyes  wide 
open  for  a  glimpse  of  the  man  he  was  after;  but  he  was 
not  rewarded  by  the  sight  of  the  fleeing  thief. 

Buck  Prindle  had  not  let  the  grass  grow  under  his 
feet,  well  knowing  the  lad  would  be  hot  after  him  in  a 
very  few  seconds. 

Along  the  alley  ran  Bart,  looking  to  the  right  and 
left  at  the  doorways,  trying  to  decide  which  course  the 
miner  would  be  most  liable  to  choose.  Through  to  the 
point  where  the  alley  came  out  on  the  main  street  he 
rushed ;  but  he  might  have  spared  himself  the  trouble, 
for  it  was  unavailing. 


The  Cast  for  Life.  73 

"Wa-al,"  muttered  Bart,  in  thorough  disgust,  as  he 
slowly  retraced  his  footsteps,  still  looking  searchingly 
at  the  doorways,  but  seeing  no  one  who  could  give  him 
any  information,  "that  thar's  the  biggest  fool  trick  I 
ever  did!  Slow!  I  reckon  Mr.  Walter  St.  Omer 
Stark  is  just  naturally  correct,  and  no  mistake!  I'm 
too  slow  by  a  heap  sight  to  get  out  of  the  way  for  a 
snail  that's  in  a  hurry!" 

Never  in  his  life  had  he  felt  more  crestfallen  than  he 
did  at  that  moment.  After  practically  capturing  the 
man  who  stole  the  stock,  he  had  allowed  the  crook  to 
slip  through  his  fingers  and  get  away. 

As  he  made  his  way  back  to  the  restaurant,  he  con- 
demned himself  roundly  and  in  the  most  scathing  lan- 
guage, feeling  he  was  deserving  of  his  own  scorn. 

As  he  entered  the  cook  room,  the  German  asked  him 
if  he  overtook  the  man;  but  he  simply  shook  his  head, 
walking  swiftly  into  the  dining  room,  where  he  found 
a  waiter  looking  around  for  him.  He  paid  his  check 
at  the  cashier's  desk,  leaving  the  place  immediately. 

For  hours  after  this  the  boy  from  the  West  wandered 
about  the  streets,  his  eyes  searching  the  face  of  every 
man  he  met,  hoping  against  hope  that  some  fortunate 
accident  might  bring  him  upon  Buck  Prindle  once 
more. 

He  took  no  note  of  the  flight  of  time  or  whither  his 
footsteps  led  him,  his  mind  being  entirely  engrossed  by 
a  conflicting  tumult  of  thoughts,  none  of  which  were 
pleasant. 

He  had  failed  to  recover  the  stock,  even  after  being 
face  to  face  with  the  acknowledged  thief;  but  the  man 
had  told  him  some  things  of  a  startling  and  astonish- 
ing nature,  and  awakened  within  his  breast  the  belief 
that  his  unfortunate  father  had  been  dealt  with  foully. 

If  this  were  true,  he  would  have  another  mission  in 


74  The  Cast  for  Life. 

the  East,  for  it  would  be  his  duty  to  know  no  rest  until 
the  man  or  men  who  had  brought  about  the  tragedy  in 
the  mine  were  properly  punished. 

Realizing  he  was  confronted  by  a  mighty  problem, 
his  face  grew  very  stern  and  hard,  and  the  light  of 
a  great  resolution  glowed  in  his  usually  drowsy  eyes. 

"If  Cyrus  Stark  had  anything  to  do  with  father's 
death,  as  well  as  having  afterward  swindled  mother 
out  of  what  was  justly  hers — wa-al,  I'll  never  rest  till 
he  is  a  poor  man  and  has  been  brought  to  the  round-up 
bar  of  justice.  I  may  be  no  more'n  a  boy,  and  a  Kansas 
cow-puncher  at  that;  but  I'll  find  a  way  of  getting 
squar',  or  I'm  not  the  son  of  my  father,  none  whatever. " 

He  said  this  to  himself  in  a  cold  and  quiet  way,  but 
it  was  as  good  as  a  registered  resolve. 

He  was  on  South  Fifth  Avenue,  with  the  elevated 
trains  rattling  and  roaring  on  the  trestle  above  his  head, 
when  he  gave  a  sudden  start  of  surprise,  uttering  a  low 
exclamation,  having  discerned  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street  two  persons  whom  he  knew. 

They  were  Ned  Steinway  and  Walter  Stark. 

The  young  man  and  the  boy  were  talking  together 
earnestly,  and,  as  Bart  watched  them,  they  suddenly 
turned  and  descended  some  steps,  disappearing  into  a 
dark  basement. 

"Wonder  what's  down  thar?"  muttered  the  lad,  as 
he  crossed  the  street. 

He  saw  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  following  Steinway 
and  Walter.  This  man  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then 
also  went  down  the  stairs,  pushed  open  a  door  and  dis- 
appeared. 

Bart  was  inclined  to  be  venturesome,  and  it  did  not 
take  him  long  to  make  up  his  mind  how  he  would  act. 

"Hyar  goes!"  he  said,  resolutely,  as  he  boldly  de- 
scended the  stairs  and  thrust  open  the  door. 


The  C  ast  for  Life.  75 

The  moment  it  closed  behind  him,  he  found  himself 
in  a  low,  dark  passage,  at  the  farthest  end  of  which 
there  was  another  door.  At  one  side  of  this  door  was 
an  open  "peephole;"  but,  as  no  one  was  peering  out, 
the  young  cowboy  promptly  advanced  and  tried  the 
door,  beyond  which  he  could  hear  a  loud  voice  dis- 
tinctly calling  off  something. 

Not  a  little  to  his  surprise,  the  door  opened  promptly 
to  his  touch.  The  moment  it  did  so,  he  saw  a  long, 
narrow,  smoky  room,  that  was  filled  with  men  who 
seemed  silent  and  breathless,  listening  to  the  clicking 
of  some  instrument  and  the  voice  of  a  big,  red-faced 
rough  on  a  stand. 

"At  the  first  quarter — Lawrence  in  the  lead,  the 
others  bunched;  at  the  half,  Lawrence  by  a  length, 
Fleetwood  second,  Belle  Adams  third;  third  quarter, 
Fleetwood  ahead,  Rob  Roy  second,  Belle  Adams  third, 
Lawrence  off  his  feet;  in  the  stretch,  Fleetwood  ahead, 
Rob  Roy  gaining,  Nemo  third." 

The  suspense  seemed  intense;  and  the  great  throng 
of  men  scarcely  appeared  to  breathe,  as  they  listened 
for  the  result. 

"Rob  Roy  by  a  head,  Fleetwood  second,  Nemo 
third " 

If  the  man  uttered  any  further  announcement,  it  was 
drowned  by  the  cries  of  excitement  from  the  throng; 
but  a  sudden  and  fierce  thumping  silenced  them.  A 
man  with  a  heavy  black  mustache  shot  up  on  the  stand, 
literally  snarling: 

"Youse  blokes  want  ter  letup  on  dat!  See?  I'm 
tryin'  ter  run  dis  place  on  der  dead  q.  t.  Dat  racket'll 
bring  der  cops  down  on  me,  an'  I'll  be  pinched.  If 
yer  don't  let  up  on  it,  I'll  close  me  shop.     See?" 

Bart  realized  he  was  in  a  private  poolroom,  where 
men  assembled  to  gamble  by  wagering  money  on  horse 


?6  The  Cast  for  Life. 

races  run  in  different  parts  of  the  country;  and  he  had 
just  listened  to  the  result  of  a  particularly  exciting 
race. 

Unfortunately  for  his  curiosity,  he  was  given  little 
time  to  look  around,  for,  at  this  moment,  he  heard  a 
familiar  voice  saying,  in  a  tone  of  the  greatest  disgust: 

"That's  all  your  tips  amount  to  of  late,  Steinway! 
I've  dropped  a  clean  five  hundred  on  Lawrence! 
Come,  let's  get  out."  I 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  he  found  himself  face  to  face 
with  Steinway  and  Walter  Stark.  As  they  saw  Bart, 
the  two  started  back,  astonished,  Steinway  exclaiming: 

"Great  Scott!     He's  been  following  us,  Walt!" 

"That's  what!"  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  million- 
aire's son,  as  he  immediately  regained  his  composure. 
"I'll  fix  him  this  time!" 

Then  he  shouted : 

' '  Hey !  hey !     Spotter — spotter  here !" 

The  cry  raised  a  tumult,  the  gamblers  surging  ex- 
citedly and  angrily  toward  the  door,  near  which  the 
trio  were. 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  several  voices.  "We'll 
do  him  up!" 

"There  he  is!"  declared  Walter,  pointing  straight  at 
Bart.  "He's  a  boy  hired  by  the  police  to  pipe  off  the 
place." 

Bart  boldly  faced  the  excited  mob,  although  he  rea- 
lized the  false  accusation  of  his  enemy  had  placed  him 
in  a  dangerous  position ;  for  these  gamblers  were  men 
easily  wrought  to  acts  of  violence. 

Suddenly  a  man  stepped  from  the  crowd  and  placed 
a  hand  on  the  young  Westerner's* arm,  facing  the 
sports,  and  saying  quietly : 

"Gentlemen,  the  charge  is  false.  This  boy  is  a 
stranger  in  the  city  and  from  the  West,  as  you  can  see 


The  Cast  for  Life.  77 

by  his  attire.  I  give  you  my  word  he  does  not  stand 
in  with  the  police,  and  is  not  here  for  the  purpose  of 
causing  trouble.  I  am  going  out  immediately,  and  he 
will  accompany  me." 

The  moment  the  speaker  appeared,  Walter  Stark 
gave  a  gasp  of  dismay  and  tried  to  slink  out  of  sight. 
In  this  he  was  not  very  successful,  for  the  searching 
eyes  of  the  gentleman  followed  him  half  scornfully. 

"Come!" 

The  word  was  spoken  in  Bart's  ear;  and  then  he  felt 
his  unknown  friend  conducting  him  through  the  door 
and  along  the  passage  to  the  street,  which  was  reached 
by  ascending  the  flight  of  stairs. 

The  boy  discovered  his  benefactor  was  the  man  he 
had  seen  follow  Steinway  and  Walter  into  the  poolroom. 

As  soon  as  the  street  was  reached,  the  stranger  said : 

"I  got  you  out  of  a  very  bad  scrape,  my  boy;  for 
those  men  would  have  been  sure  to  do  you  injury." 

"I  reckon  you're  giving  me  a  sure  trail,  mister," 
agreed  the  lad.     "I  thank  you." 

"That's  all  right,"  smiled  the  man,  as  he  walked 
toward  a  cab  that  seemed  waiting  for  him  at  the  curb. 
"I  had  a  purpose  in  going  in  there,  and  I  presume  you 
did  also.     This  is  the  second  time  I  have  been  able  to 
get  you  out  of  a  bad  fix." 

With  those  words,  and  no  more,  he  stepped  into  the 
cab  and  was  driven  swiftly  away,  without  giving  the 
bewildered  boy  time  to  utter  anything  further. 

"The  second  time,"  muttered  Bart,  as  he  walked 
slowly  along  the  street.  "What'd  he  mean?  I  know! 
It  must  be  that  tbar  man's  the  friend  the  judge  said 
got  me  off  when  Steinway  had  me  arrested.  And  I 
don't  even  know  his  name!" 

Thinking  of  this,  he  wandered  on  and  on,  passing 
Union  Square,  and  finally  coming  to  a  little  park  that 


78  The  Cast  for  Life. 

was  all  fenced  about  with  a  high  iron  railing.  Near 
this  park  were  some  stables,  and  out  of  one  of  these 
a  man  suddenly  dashed,  hatless  and  coatless,  wildly 
crying : 

"Look  out!  He's  broke  out  of  the  cage!  Run — run 
for  your  lives!" 

Several  people  who  were  passing  paused  and  looked 
at  the  man,  as  if  they  considered  him  deranged. 

But  in  another  moment  a  terrible  roar  came  from  the 
stable,  and  out  of  the  door  shot  the  form  of  a  huge 
beast — an  enraged  panther ! 

It  seemed  that  two  bounds  carried  the  creature  across 
the  street,  and  then  it  crouched  low  to  the  ground, 
within  ten  feet  of  a  bright-looking,  tastity-dressed  girl, 
lashing  its  tail  and  preparing  to  leap  upon  her. 

So  great  was  the  girl's  horror  that  she  appeared 
turned  to  stone,  standing  still  in  her  tracks.  It  seemed 
that  nothing  could  save  her,  for  all  the  spectators  were 
motionless  with  terror  and  dismay. 

No,  not  all  of  them !  The  boy  from  the  West  was  the 
only  one  who  retained  his  presence  of  mind,  or  made  a 
move  to  save  the  girl. 

Quickly  detaching  the  lariat  from  his  side,  he  sent  it 
whirling  about  his  head,  ran  forward  a  few  steps  with 
the  lightness  of  a  cat,  and  made  the  cast  for  life. 


Roping  a  Panther.  79 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

ROPING    A    PANTHER. 

The  escaped  panther  was  on  the  verge  of  making  a 
spring  at  the  helpless  girl. 

As  Bart  Stone  sent  the  noose  sailing  through  the  air, 
he  leaped  to  the  iron  fence  of  the  park  and  made  one 
end  of  the  lariat  secure  by  a  quick  double-hitch. 

Over  the  head  of  the  terrible  animal  dropped  the 
noose,  with  not  four  feet  of  rope  to  spare. 

At  that  very  instant  the  beast  leaped  for  the  girl. 

The  horsehair  lariat  was  of  the  very  finest  quality, 
and  its  strength  and  value  were  tested  at  that  moment. 

The  panther  rose  in  the  air,  but  was  immediately 
hurled  backward  to  the  ground,  striking  heavily  and 
rolling  over  and  over,  stunned,  choked,  astounded. 

The  bewildered  spectators  who  had  seen  it  all  could 
scarcely  understand  what  had  happened,  although  they 
realized  the  panther  had  been  prevented  from  reaching 
its  intended  victim. 

"Run!"  shouted  Bart  to  the  girl,  who  was  putting 
out  her  hands  and  swaying  unsteadily.  "The  ornary 
critter  may  get  away.  Make  a  break  for  cover,  and 
don't  delay!" 

If  she  heard  his  words,  she  did  not  understand  or 
had  not  enough  strength  to  follow  his  instructions;  for 
she  seemed  on  the  point  of  tottering  forward  toward 
the  overthrown  and  defeated  animal. 

Of  a  sudden,  Bart  Stone  darted  forward,  and,  un- 
heeding the  danger,  ran  past  the  panther. 


80  Roping  a  Panther. 

With  a  snarling  yowl,  the  creature  gathered  itself 
and  leaped  again,  this  time  for  the  boy. 

It  was  a  hasty  spring,  but  once  more  the  horsehair 
cord  saved  a  human  life,  for  the  right  forward  paw  of 
the  infuriated  beast  touched  the  back  of  the  boy's 
woolen  shirt,  and  the  claws  ripped  the  garments  open, 
although  no  further  harm  was  done. 

Then  the  lariat  again  snatched  the  panther  back  and 
sent  it  rolling  over  and  over,  scratching,  snarling,  and 
biting. 

Bart  was  barely  in  time  to  catch  the  fainting  form  of 
the  girl  in  his  arms,  and  he  lost  not  a  moment  in  bear- 
ing her  from  the  dangerous  locality,  leaving  the  pan- 
ther to  escape  or  be  captured. 

A  man  ran  to  his  assistance  and  told  him  he  could 
take  the  unconscious  girl  into  a  house  near  at  hand. 
This  Bart  did,  allowing  no  one  to  touch  her  until  she  was 
placed  on  a  couch,  after  which  the  lady  of  the  house 
and  the  servants  set  about  restoring  her  to  conscious- 
ness. 

"It  was  a  brave  and  wonderful  act!"  declared  the 
man,  looking  admiringly  at  Bart.  "I  saw  it  from  a 
distance.  That  girl  is  indebted  to  you  for  her  life,  my 
boy!" 

Bart  blushed  with  genuine  confusion. 

"Why,  that  thar  wasn't  nothing  much,"  he  modestly 
declared.  "A  feller  as  can  rope  a  steer  ought  to  be 
able  to  rope  any  other  kind  of  critter." 

"But  the  daring  of  it — and  the  way  you  ran  past  the 
beast  and  caught  the  girl  as  she  was  falling !  It  was 
remarkable!" 

Finding  that  he  was  to  be  lionized  by  the  man,  Bart 
soon  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the  house,  saying  he  was 
going  back  for  his  "rope." 

Outside  he  found  a  great  crowd  had  gathered  about 


Roping  a  Panther.  81 

the  place  where  he  had  last  seen  the  cleverly  snared 
beast,  and  he  wondered  what  was  happening.  Running 
toward  the  spot,  he  was  not  long  in  discovering  the 
animal's  trainer  had  arrived  and  promptly  caused  a 
substitute  cage  to  be  brought  from  the  stable,  where  the 
panther  was  being  kept  for  a  week,  preparatory  to  the 
beginning  of  an  engagement  at  a  popular  animal  show. 

The  trainer  had,  with  little  loss  of  time,  succeeded  in 
getting  the  escaped  beast  into  the  cage,  which  was  now 
surrounded  by  several  very  bold  policemen,  who  had 
discreetly  kept  at  a  comfortable  distance  until  they 
were  sure  the  creature  was  beyond  doing  harm. 

Already  were  there  several  newspaper  reporters  on 
the  spot,  and  they  were  eagerly  seeking  "particulars." 

To  Bart's  dismay,  he  discovered  the  trainer  had  cut 
the  horse-hair  lariat  as  soon  as  the  panther  was  caged. 

"Look  hyar!"  cried  the  boy  from  the  West,  coming 
forward;  "what'd  you  want  to  do  that  thar  thing  for? 
Didn't  you  know  this  yar  rope  was  worth  a  clean  hun- 
dred dollars,  and  you've  just  naturally  spoiled  it  for 
good  and  all!'* 

The  man  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Was  it  yours,"  he  asked. 

"That's  what  it  was;  and  I  want  the  galoot  that  cut 
it  to  pay  for  it  plenty  quick!" 

"And  did  you  lasso  the  panther?" 

"Yes,  I  roped  the  critter." 

"That's  the  very  boy!"  cried  several  of  those  who 
had  witnessed  Bart's  skillful  feat. 

In  a  moment,  the  surprised  lad  found  himself  seized 
by  the  energetic  reporters,  every  one  of  whom  was  ask- 
ing him  a  different  question,  all  speaking  together. 
There  poured  a  perfect  torrent  of  inquiries  upon  him, 
wanting  to  know  his  name,  age,  place  of  birth,  where 
he  belonged,  how  he  happened  to  be  in  New  York,  how 


82  Roping-  a  Panther. 

he  learned  to  throw  a  lariat,  who  the  girl  was  he  had 
saved,  and  forty  other  things. 

"Wa-al  this  is  worse'n  a  cyclone,"  gasped  the  be- 
wildered boy.  "For  time  sake,  let  me  get  clear  of  this 
yere  razzle!     I  can't  hear  myself  think!" 

But  he  could  not  escape  the  reporters  until  they  had 
obtained  answers  to  at  least  fifty  per  cent,  of  their 
questions,  the  answers  to  the  other  fifty  per  cent,  being 
supplied  by  themselves. 

By  that  time  the  owner  of  the  panther  had  arrived, 
and  after  a  short  consultation  with  the  trainer,  this 
man  made  no  delay  in  finding  Bart. 

"Are  you  the  boy?"  he  eagerly  inquired.  "Say, 
you  may  not  know  it,  but  you've  made  a  ten-strike  to- 
day. Why,  the  accounts  of  this  affair  will  be  in  every 
evening  paper!  It's  a  great  ad. — great!  And  you — 
why,  I'll  shove  up  a  wad  you'll  be  offered  an  engage- 
ment at  the  show  to  appear  with  Stanley,  the  panther." 

"To  appear!  What  do  you  mean?"  questioned  the 
astonished  lad. 

"To  show  yourself  at  the  performances,  of  course. 
It'd  be  a  great  card.  Think  of  the  crowds  coming  to 
see  the  ferocious,  untamed  Stanley,  and  the  boy  who 
lassoed  the  beast  when  it  had  escaped,  and  was  at  lib- 
erty in  the  streets  of  New  York!  By  jove!  this  ought 
to  pay  you  a  good  roll.     It'll  make  you  famous." 

"Wa-al,  I  didn't  s'pose  people  in  the  East'd  make 
such  a  rumpus  over  a  little  thing!"  exclaimed  Bart  in 
disgust. 

"Little  thing!"  spluttered  the  man.  "Are  you 
crazy,  boy!  I  understand  you  saved  a  young  lady 
from  being  killed  by  Stanley.  This  is  great!  It's  the 
luckiest  day  I've  hit  in  a  year!" 

The  man  was  plainly  delighted,  but  he  was  not  so 
pleased  when  Bart  insisted  he  must  pay  for  the  lariat. 


Roping  a  Panther.  83 

He  refused  to  believe  the  horse-hair  rope  could  be 
worth  a  hundred  dollars;  but  he  finally  decided  to  pay 
the  money  "on  account  of  the  ad.,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

Bart  pocketed  the  money,  but,  in  truth,  he  would 
rather  have  the  lariat  in  perfect  condition,  as  the  rope 
had  belonged  to  his  father,  and  he  set  a  great  store 
by  it. 

Then  the  owner  of  the  panther,  whose  name  was 
Zachery  Pulsifer,  insisted  that  Bart  should  accompany 
him  to  his  hotel  and  take  dinner  with  him  that  night. 
The  beast  was  left  to  the  care  of  the  trainer  and  some 
assistants. 

Bart  would  not  go  anywhere  until  he  knew  if  the 
girl  he  had  saved  had  recovered  from  her  faint,  and  so 
Mr.  Pulsifer  accompanied  him  to  the  house  where  she 
had  been  taken. 

When  they  reached  the  place  the  man  of  the  house 
hurried  the  boy  to  the  parlor,  saying : 

"The  young  lady's  father  is  here,  and  he  wants  to 
see  the  brave  lad  who  saved  his  daughter.  Here  he 
is." 

To  Bart's  astonishment,  he  found  himself  face  to 
face  with  his  mysterious  friend,  the  gentleman  who  had 
twice  done  him  a  favor,  having  that  day  saved  him 
from  the  mob  of  angry  gamblers  in  the  poolroom. 


Honors  to  the  Hero. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

HONORS   TO   THE   HERO. 

"You?" 

Both  man  and  boy  uttered  the  word,  as  they  stared 
at  each  other  in  surprise. 

"I  might  have  known  it  was  you  by  the  description," 
the  gentleman  hastily  added;  "but  I  was  so  excited  I 
scarcely  thought  of  anything  but  Ferda." 

"Wa-al,  I  never  dreamed  of  you !"  confessed  Bart. 

"My  dear  boy,"  and  the  gentleman  grasped  the  lad's 
hand,  "I  owe  you  a  debt  that  I  can  never  repay!" 

"Don't!"  protested  the  confused  youth.  "It  makes 
me  feel  like  I  had  been  kerflopped  by  a  burro — and 
that's  onerary!  If  this  yar  thing  keeps  up,  I'll  take 
to  my  hoofs  and  stampede  for  tall  timber  heap  sood." 

"He  is  a  brave  and  noble  lad,  sir,"  cut  in  Mr.  Zach- 
ery  Pulsifer,  pressing  forward.  "Why,  this  is  a  great 
snap  for  him !  Being  a  man  of  business,  sir,  and  an 
artist  in  my  line,  I  immediately  appreciate  an  accident 
that  gives  me  an  ad.  of  this  sort.  Every  paper  will 
have  it:  Stanley,  the  untamed  panther!  Roaming 
through  New  York  as  if  in  his  own  native  forest !  The 
magnificent  beast  owned  by  Mr.  Zachery  Pulsifer,  the 
world's  greatest  collector  of  wild  animals!     The " 

"I  beg  3Tonr  pardon,  sir,"  rather  brusquely  inter- 
rupted the  girl's  father;  "this  is  no  time  or  place  for 
you  to  go  into  rhapsodies  over  the  value  of  your  ad.  I 
presume  you  are  Mr.  Zachery  Pulsifer,  the  owner  of 
the  panther?" 


\y^~  Honors  to  the  Hero.  85 

"I  have  that  honor,  sir,"  was  the  reply,  as  the 
speaker  drew  himself  up  with  dignity. 

"Then  I  may  as  well  inform  you  it  is  possible  I  shall 
bring  suit  against  you." 

"Wh-wh-what?"  almost  shouted  the  astonished  Mr. 
Pulsifer,  looking  staggered.  "Bring  suit  against  me? 
'Cause  why?" 

"For  maintaining  a  dangerous  nuisance  in  that  stable. 
The  escape  of  the  panther  is  all  the  proof  I  want.  I 
can  make  you  pay  heavy  damages." 

Zachery  Pulsifer  collapsed,  all  his  dignity  leaving 
him  in  a  moment,  as  he  excitedly  spluttered : 

"You  can't  be  in  earnest — you  can't!  Why,  it's 
preposterous!  Your  daughter  was  not  harmed.  It 
will  make  her  famous !  Man  alive,  her  name  will  be 
in  the  papers — she'll  be  advertised!" 

"That's  one  reason  why  I  think  of  bringing  suit 
against  you,"  calmly  declared  the  gentleman.  "I 
object  to  such  advertising  very  decidedly." 

This  was  more  than  the  owner  of  the  panther  could 
understand,  and  for  a  few  minutes  he  poured  forth  a 
torrent  of  protests  and  entreaties.  He  was  finally  cut 
off  by  the  man  of  the  house,  who  politely  hinted  that 
he  had  better  withdraw. 

"All  right,"  mumbled  Mr.  Pulsifer,  in  disgust. 
"It's  plain  some  poeple  don't  know  a  good  thing  when 
they  see  it.  I  am  going  now.  I  shall  be  prepared  to 
defend  any  suit.  Mr.  Stone,  you  are  coming  with  me 
to " 

"Excuse  me,"  said  the  gentleman  whose  daughter 
Bart  had  saved,  "I  have  the  strongest  claim  on  him. 
He  will  remain  with  me,  I  think.     Eh,  my  lad?" 

"Wa-al,"  decided  Bart,  "if  I  had  my  choice,  I'd  a 
heap  rather  be  all  by  my  lonesome  out  on  a  prairie. 
As  it  is,  I  reckon  I'll  stay  hyar." 


86  Honors  to  the  Hero. 

) 

"Very  •well,"  bowed  Pulsifer,  stiffly,  "if  you  see  fit 

to  decline  my  invitation  to  dinner  I  have  nothing  fur- 
ther to  say.  However,  I  shall  be  pleased  to  see  you 
any  time.  Here's  my  card.  Will  you  give  me  your 
address?     I  may  wish  to  communicate  with  you." 

"His  address  for  the  next  few  days,  at  least  will  be 
my  home,"  said  the  father  of  the  girl,  giving  a  num- 
ber on  Madison  Avenue. 

A  minute  plater  Zachery  Pulsifer  had  taken  his  de- 
parture. 

Both  men  laughed  when  he  was  gone,  and  Bart's 
mysterious  friend  observed : 

"The  fear  of  a  suit  rather  cooled  Mr.  Pulsifer.  I 
fancied  that  would  be  the  easiest  way  to  get  rid  of  him, 
and  it  was  plain  he  is  not  a  very  desirable  acquaint- 
ance. I  advise  you  to  look  out  for  men  of  this  sort, 
my  boy.  But  now  let  me  thank  you  again  and  again 
for  your  brave  and  noble  act.     You " 

"Say,  mister,"  broke  in  the  boy,  "I  don't  reckon 
I've  done  any  more'n  squar'  accounts.  I  owed  you  a 
heap,  for  I  judge  you  are  the  one  who  went  to  the 
court  and  got  me  out  of  that  bad  fix  when  Steinway 
had  me  arrested." 

"Well,  you  are  right  on  that  point,"  smiled  the  gen- 
tleman. 

"How'd  you  happen  to  do  it?" 

"I  was  in  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  when  you  accused 
the  thief  and  pursued  him.  I  saw  the  whole  affair.  I 
was  afterward  with  the  spectators  who  watched  you 
send  Walter  Stark  sprawling  after  he  tried  to  strike 
you.  I  saw  you  were  in  the  right  all  the  time,  and  my 
sympathy  was  enlisted,  causing  me  to  resolve  to  get 
you  out  of  the  scrape.  When  this  fellow  Steinway 
and  young  Walter  Stark  heard  I  had  decided  to  see 
that  you  had  fair  play  they  simply  dropped  the  matter." 


Honors  to  the  Hero.  87 

"Wa-al,  it's  right  lucky  for  me  you  took  a  hand  in 
the  business,  I'll  allow.  And  then  you  got  me  out  of 
another  scrape  to-day." 

"I  stopped  at  Fourteenth  Street  to  look  after  some 
business,  and  was  on  my  way  up  town  when  I  heard 
of  the  panther  escaping  in  this  neighborhood.  Then  I 
came  over,  little  thinking  it  was  my  own  child  who 
had  been  so  nearly  killed  by  the  beast.  From  the  win- 
dow, Ferda,  who  had  recovered,  saw  me  passing  and 
had  me  called  in  here.  And  now  it  turns  out  you  are 
the  boy  who  saved  her!" 

The  delighted  gentleman  wrung  Bart's  hand  again, 
assuring  the  boy  of  his  gratitude,  while  the  latter  still 
remained  confused. 

"What  is  your  name,  my  lad?" 

"Bartley  Stone." 

"Stone.  That  is  a  good  solid  name.  I  once  had  a 
schoolmate  by  that  name.  I  am  Roger  Van  Worth, 
and  this" — as  a  rather  pale-faced  but  pretty  girl  en- 
tered the  room,  accompanied  by  an  older  lady — "is 
Ferda,  my  daughter,  who  owes  her  life  to  your  bravery. ' ' 

The  girl  came  forward  and  held  out  her  white  hand, 
a  bit  of  warm  color  mounting  to  her  cheeks  as  Bart 
hesitatingly  toucher!  the  fingers,  bowing  low,  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat  in  his  hand.  There  was  a  certain  rude 
gallantry  in  his  manner  that  told  his  instincts  were  of 
a  gentlemanly  sort. 

"I  am  right  glad  to  meet  Miss  Van  Worth,"  de- 
clared Bart,  choking  somewhat  over  the  words. 

"And  I  am  thankful  to  know  the  brave  young  man 
who  saved  me  from  that  awful  beast,"  earnestly  as- 
sured Ferda,  looking  him  full  in  the  face  with  her 
great  brown  eyes.  "I  have  wanted  to  know  you  ever 
since — ever  since  I  first  saw  you,"  she  finished,  hesitat- 
ing and  glancing  quickly  at  her  father. 


88  Honors  to  the  Hero. 

"To-day  is  not  the  first  time  she  observed  you,  Mr. 
Stone,"  explained  Roger  Van  Worth.  "She  happened 
to  be  passing  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  as  you  upset 
Walter  Stark,  and  she  saw  it  all.  When  I  came  home 
she  asked  me  about  all  that  happened,  and  I  will  con- 
fess she  influenced  me  to  go  down  to  court  and  see  the 
judge  on  j'our  behalf." 

The  girl  was  now  blushing  in  confusion,  and  Bart 
suddenly  realized  how  extremely  pretty  and  charming 
she  really  was.  Again  he  bowed  low  before  her,  speak- 
ing with  a  great  deal  of  feeling: 

"I  just  naturally  judge  it  was  the  work  of  Provi- 
dence that  gave  me  that  thar  chance  to  do  her  a  turn 
and  kind  of  squar'  things." 

Bart  was  then  introduced  to  the  gentleman  and  lady 
of  the  house,  and  the  praises  they  showered  on  him 
made  him  once  more  feel  that  he  would  give  almost 
anything  to  be  alone  on  a  Kansas  prairie. 

Finally,  when  this  was  all  over,  Mr.  Van  Worth 
went  out  to  look  for  a  carriage,  soon  returning  to  state 
one  was  waiting  at  the  door. 

The  boy  from  the  West  would  have  made  his  escape 
from  his  friends  if  possible,  but  they  would  not  hear 
of  such  a  thing,  and  he  soon  found  himself  in  the  closed 
carriage  with  Roger  Van  Worth  and  his  pretty  daugh- 
ter, being  carried  toward  the  millionaire's  elegant 
home  on  Madison  Avenue. 


A  Surprising  Discovery.  89 


CHAPTER    XV. 

A  SURPRISING    DISCOVERY. 

Bart  was  literally  astounded  by  the  elegance  of 
Roger  Van  Worth's  home,  and  he  felt  greatly  out  of 
place  and  embarrassed,  although  the  millionaire  and 
his  pretty  daughter  did  their  best  to  put  him  at  his  ease. 

Ferda's  mother  had  been  dead  several  years,  and  as 
she  was  the  only  child  and  idol  of  her  father,  she  was 
the  practical  mistress  of  the  house,  although  a  maiden 
aunt  resided  there  and  acted  as  a  sort  of  chaperon 
toward  her. 

The  boy  tried  to  get  away  before  dinner,  thinking 
how  unsuited  for  such  an  occasion  he  must  appear,  but 
he  found  his  efforts  useless,  for  Mr.  Van  Worth  would 
not  listen  to  such  a  thing. 

"Didn't  you  hear  me  tell  Mr.  Zachery  Pulsifer  your 
address  for  the  next  few  days  would  be  this  house? 
That  meant  that  you  were  to  remain  right  here.  Never 
mind  how  you  are  dressed.  You  are  from  a  part  of  the 
country  where  people  wear  such  clothes  from  early  in 
the  morning  until  late  at  night " 

"And  then  a  right  good  many  of  them  wear  such 
clothes  all  night,"  put  in  the  boy. 

"That  is  a  fact,"  smiled  Mr.  Van  Worth.  "Here  is 
Ferda.  She  has  come  down  prepared  to  chat  with  you, 
while  I  run  out  to  keep  an  appointment.  I  will  be  on 
hand  for  dinner." 

So  the  boy  and  girl  were  left  together,  and  they  got 
along  famously,  for  Bart  overcame  his  diffidence  after 


90  A  Surprising-  Discovery. 

a  time,  and  talked  unreserved ly  of  his  home  in  the 
West  and  the  wild,  free  life  he  knew  so  well.  Indeed, 
he  grew  rather  eloquent  in  his  way,  and  Ferda  listened 
with  the  deepest  interest. 

The  girl  had  more  than  half  suspected  Bart  was  illit- 
erate, his  manner  of  speech  seeming  to  prove  this,  but 
when  she  came  to  sound  him  she  was  astonished  at  his 
actual  fund  of  knowledge.  He  was  a  good  English 
scholar,  could  translate  French,  although  he  did  not 
speak  it  verjT  well,  and  could  read  Latin  as  well  as 
Ferda  herself.  His  Western  accent  and  vernacular 
he  had  unconsciously  acquired  by  constantly  mingling 
with  people  who  always  spoke  in  that  manner. 

They  were  discussing  books  and  authors,  and  Bart 
had  told  Ferda  many  interesting  things  about  great  nov- 
elists and  poets,  showing  an  astonishing  familiarity 
with  all  the  masters  of  literature,  when  Mr.  Van  Worth 
came  in  quietly  and  stood  listening  to  them.  The  gen- 
tleman was  no  less  astonished  than  Ferda  at  Bart's 
knowledge,  and  his  respect  for  the  boy  advanced  a  step. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you  are  enjoying  yourselves,"  he 
smiled,  as  he  came  forward.  "Here  is  something  that 
may  interest  you,  Mr.  Stone,"  and  he  passed  Bart  a 
newspaper. 

It  was  New  York's  most  sensational  evening  paper, 
and  on  the  first  page  was  a  two-column  article,  the 
"scare  headings"  of  which  were  as  follows: 

"LASSOED   A   PANTHER! 
Stanley,  the  savage  monarch  of  the  forest,  free  in  the 

city  streets ! 
FEARFUL  PERIL  OF   PRETTY  FERDA  VAN 

WORTH. 

Saved  from  a  frightful  fate  by  a  seventeen- year-old  boy 

from  the  West. 

Bold  Bartley  Stone  roped  the  raging  beast." 


A  Surprising  Discovery.  91 

Then  followed  a  picturesque  and  rather  inaccurate 
account  of  the  whole  affair,  but  what  literally  as- 
tounded Bart  and  took  away  his  breath  was  the  fact 
that  his  picture  was  printed  in  the  paper. 

To  be  sure,  it  was  not  a  first  class  likeness,  but  then  it 
did  resemble  him. 

Roger  Van  Worth  laughed  softly  as  he  saw  the 
speechless  boy  stare  helplessly  at  the  printed  "story" 
and  the  picture,  utterly  unable  to  express  himself. 

"That's  what  they  call  newspaper  enterprise  in  New 
York,"  he  observed. 

"But — but,  I  just  naturally  don't  understand  it! 
How'd  they  get  my  picture?" 

"One  of  those  reporters  must  have  been  armed  with 
a  camera  and  taken  a  snap-shot  at  you." 

"But  it's  been  such  a  short  time.  I  plumb  can't 
understand  how  they  got  the  picture  made  and  all  this 
yarn  into  print." 

"It  was  certainly  quick  work;  but  every  late  evening 
paper  in  the  city  has  something  about  the  affair,  al- 
though none  of  them  spread  themselves  as  this  one  did. 
We  would  have  been  run  over  by  reporters  here,  but 
when  I  went  out  I  detached  the  electric  wires,  so  not  a 
bell  in  the  house  would  ring,  and  gave  directions  to  the 
servants  to  admit  no  one.  The  butler  tells  me  six  or 
eight  men  have  been  vainly  pushing  at  the  door  button 
at  various  times  since." 

"Wa-al,"  slowly  spoke  Bart,  "I  must  allow  I  don't 
like  this  yere  thing  none  whatever.  It  seems  foolish 
to  me  to  make  such  a  rumpus  over  the  business." 

"You  are  modest,  my  lad,"  said  Roger  Van  Worth. 
"To-night  you  are  the  best  known  and  most  popular 
boy  in  New  York  City." 

It  took  some  time  for  Bart  to  realize  this  was  actually 
the  truth,  and   then,   of  a  sudden,  he  thought  of  his 


92  A  Surprising  Discovery. 

mother,  away  out  West  in  her  Kansas  home.  He  would 
send  her  the  papers,  and  he  knew  how  her  cheeks  would 
flush  and  her  eyes  fill  with  tears  of  pride  and  joy. 
Chance  and  his  skill  with  the  lariat  had  made  him 
famous  for  the  time. 

They  talked  but  a  few  moments  after  Mr.  Van 
Worth's  return,  and  then  dinner  was  announced. 
Ferda's  aunt  appeared,  and  they  all  went  down  to- 
gether. 

The  boy  still  felt  out  of  place,  but  his  new  friends 
were  agreeably  surprised  to  discover  his  table  manners, 
while  not  elegant  or  in  exact  accordance  with  fixed  rules, 
were  those  of  a  natural  gentleman.  If  he  did  not  dip 
the  spoon  from  him  in  eating  soup,  he  also  did  not  tip 
the  plate  to  get  the  last  drop,  and  not  once  did  he  put 
his  knife  in  his  mouth. 

And  Roger  Van  Worth  inwardly  decided  this  boy 
who  sat  at  his  table,  clothed  in  the  garments  worn  on 
the  Western  ranches,  was  more  of  a  gentleman  than 
ninety-nine  per  cent,  of  the  city-bred  youths  with  so- 
called  aristocratic  parents.  „ 

As  for  Ferda,  there  was  a  positive  glow  of  admira- 
tion in  her  eyes  ever3T  time  they  rested  on  Bart. 

The  conversation  flowed  along  freely,  and  when  des- 
sert was  reached,  Mr.  Van  Worth  asked  Bart  how  he 
happened  to  be  in  New  York.  By  this  time  the  boy 
was  ready  to  open  his  heart,  and  he  quietly  explained 
his  reasons  for  leaving  his  home  and  seeking  to  secure 
the  stock  of  the  White  Horse  Mine. 

The  millionaire  listened  with  ever-increasing  interest 
to  the  lad's  story,  expressing  genuine  disappointment  as 
Bart  told  of  his  rebuffs. 

"You  have  certainly  had  wretched  luck,"  said  Mr. 
Van  Worth.  "You  deserve  to  secure  those  shares,  and 
I  believe  you  will  get  them  in  the  end.     But  I  know 


A  Surprising  Discovery.  93 

from  experience  Cyrus  Stark  is  an  utterly  unscrupulous 
man.  I  have  dealt  with  bim  on  Wall  Street,  and  he 
once  beat  me  out  of  something  like  seventy  thousand 
dollars  by  a  direct  lie.  Although  we  have  apparently 
remained  friendly,  I  vowed  then  I  would  get  even 
•vith  him  some  day,  and  I  mean  to  keep  my  word,  I 
,  am  simply  awaiting  the  opportunity  to  do  so  by  fair 
means,  for  I  will  not  resort  to  his  own  crooked  methods. 

"As  for  Walter  Stark,  I  believe  him  a  chip  of  the 
old  block,  even  though  he  did  seem  like  a  respectable 
young  fellow.  He  has  been  very  friendly  with  Ferda, 
and  I  resolved  to  discover  if  he  w^ere  the  sort  of  a  youth 
she  should  know.  That  is  why  I  followed  him  into  the 
pool-room  to-day.  His  companion,  Edward  Steinway, 
is  decidedly  questionable,  although  of  good  parents; 
and  it  is  plain  Steinway  has  led  Walter  to  gamble  and 
frequent  low  resorts.  Hereafter,  my  doors  are  closed 
to  Walter  Stark,  and  Ferda  is  forbidden  to  associate 
with  him  at  all." 

"For  which  Ferda  does  not  feel  very  bad,"  smiled 
the  girl.     Then  she  went  on,  impulsively. 

"Oh,  father!  wouldn't  it  be  jolly  if  you  could  help 
Mr.  Stone  get  ahead  of  Cyrus  Stark  in  this  matter! 
You  could  get  square  wTith  that  man  in  such  a  way." 

Mr.  Van  Worth  looked  doubtful. 
1      "Perhaps  you  are  right,"  he  slowly  said.     "I  had 
I  not  thought  of  that.     I  like  Bartley  for  his  manliness, 
'  and  1  feel  boundlessly  in  his  debt.     He  reminds  me  of 
my  old  schoolmate,  Norman  Stone." 

"Why!"  exclaimed  Bart,  excitedly,  "that  was  my 
father's  name!" 

"Indeed!"  ejaculated  Mr.  Van  Worth.  "It  cannot 
be  possible  your  father  was  the  Norman  Stone  who  was 
my  schoolmate  and  boyhood  chum  !" 

"How  do  you  know?"  broke  from  Ferda's  lips,  and 


94  A  Surprising"  Discovery. 

her  cheeks  glowed  with  enthusiasm.  "Perhaps  he 
was!  Oh,  wouldn't  that  be  strange — wouldn't  it  be 
jolly!" 

"Where  did  your  father  come  from?"  questioned  the 
millionaire. 

"New  Hampshire,"  answered  the  boy  from  the  West. 

"What  part  of  New  Hampshire?" 

"Hooksett." 

"That's  the  very  State  and  town!"  came  excitedly 
from  Roger  Van  Worth's  lips.  "I  lost  track  of  Nor- 
man, but  now  I  remember  he  went  out  West  some- 
where. My  lad,  I  believe  your  father  was  actually  my 
boyhood  chuml" 


A  Strong  Ally.  95 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    STRONG    ALLY. 

Before  they  left  the  dinner  table  it  was  decided  be- 
yond a  doubt  that  Roger  Van  Worth  and  Norman 
Stone  had  really  been  schoolmates  and  chums. 

This  caused  the  New  York  millionaire  to  look  with 
renewed  and  heightened  friendship  and  regard  upon 
the  boy  who  had  saved  his  child  from  the  panther. 
Indeed,  a  genuine  feeling  of  affection  for  Bartley 
sprang  up  in  the  man's  breast  and  made  him  resolve  to 
assist  this  brave  boy  in  the  battle  for  his  rights. 

Ferda  was  delighted,  and  in  her  charming,  girlish 
way,  she  openly  expressed  her  pleasure. 

"It  is  perfectly  lovely !"  she  exclaimed,  her  cheeks 
flushed  and  e}*es  glowing.  "And  to  think  this  discov- 
ery came  about  because  I  walked  down  to  see  Nettie 
Sprague  and  was  nearly  eaten  up  by  a  horrid  panther. 
Isn't  it  strange?" 

"  'God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way  His  wonders  to 
perform,'  "  quoted  the  maiden  aunt,   who   was   very 
$  religiously  inclined. 

*     When  the  dinner  was  quite  over,  Mr.    Van  Worth 
<  said  to  Bart : 

"Come  with  me  to  the  library.  I  want  to  have  a 
quiet  talk  with  you,  my  boy." 

Ferda  understood  what  that  meant,  and  she  did  not 
venture  to  intrude,  but  when  she  bade  Bart  good- 
night, she  held  out  her  shapely  hand  and  gave  him  an 
impulsive  pressure  as  he  clasped  it  with  his  brown 
fingers. 


96  A  Strong  Ally. 

The  boy  from  the  West  felt  that  fortune  had  smiled 
upon  him  in  his  darkest  hour  of  trouble  and  despair. 

He  was  very  thankful  toward  his  new-found  friends 
for  their  kindness,  as  he  followed  Roger  Van  Worth 
into  the  handsome  library  and  sat  down  in  a  big  com- 
fortable chair,  as  directed  by  the  man. 

For  some  moments  Mr.  Van  Worth  paced  the  floor 
in  a  moody  manner,  and  when  he  paused  he  was 
pinching  his  under  lip  with  a  thumb  and  forefinger, 
while  he  gazed  steadily  at  the  son  of  his  old  schoolmate 
and  comrade. 

"So  poor  Norman  is  dead?"  he  finally  murmured,  a 
tender  light  in  his  eyes  and  a  softened  look  on  his 
strong  face.  "It  is  thus  boyhood  friends  drift  apart 
and  are  lost  to  each  other  forever.  I  used  to  think  of 
him  often,  but  the  bustle  of  city  life  and  the  constant 
struggles  of  money-getting  gradually  drove  him  from 
my  mind,  and,  till  now,  I  have  scarcely  paused  in 
years  to  allow  memories  of  the  old  days — the  dear  old 
days — to  intrude  upon  me. 

"Norman  was  a  jolly  fellow.  I  can  see  him  now  as 
he  used  to  look  with  his  bare  feet,  chubby  face  and 
yellow  straw  hat,  in  the  crown  of  which  was  a  hole 
that  often  allowed  a  lock  of  his  long  hair  to  protrude. 
Our  mothers  used  to  cut  our  hair  then  in  the  universal 
roundabout  fashion,  and  sometimes  when  the  household 
duties  pressed  hard  upon  them,  the  shocks  were  sadly 
neglected. 

"Norman  and  I  stood  by  each  other  through  thick 
and  thin,  and  I  recall  only  one  quarrel  that  we  had.  I 
was  the  taller  and  older,  and  I  used  to  consider  myself 
the  superior,  but  one  day  he  got  tired  of  being  bossed, 
and  rebelled.  Then  we  had  it — and  he  gave  me  a 
beautiful  pair  of  black  eyes,  bless  his  dear  soul! 

"I  remember  the  old  pond  and  the  raft  from  which 


A  Strong  Ally.  97 

we  used  to  fish  for  pickerel  and  bull-heads — and  the 
'Swimmin'  Hole,'  where  we  often  disported  ourselves 
in  direct  disobedience  to  our  parents'  commands — and 
how  his  father  came  down  one  day  and  caught  him  in 
the  water  and  gave  him  a  good  drubbing  with  a  birch 
withe. 

"We  often  planned  on  what  we  would  do  when  we 
became  men.  I  was  going  to  become  a  great  explorer 
and  go  to  Africa.  I  believe  I  had  been  reading  about 
Livingstone,  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  or  somebody  who  had 
traveled  up  the  Nile.  Norman  had  learned  a  few  sim- 
ple tricks  of  legerdemain,  and  it  was  his  fixed  resolve 
to  become  a  great  magician  and  travel  over  the  country 
giving  shows  and  capturing  dollars. 

"Such  were  the  dreams  of  boyhood.  And  now  poor 
Norman  is  dead  and  gone!" 

He  cleared  his  throat  with  a  rasping  sound,  turning 
to  produce  a  handkerchief  and  blow  his  nose  in  a  vigor- 
ous attempt  to  cover  his  emotion.  After  a  few  seconds 
he  turned  back  and  sat  down  near  Bart. 

"My  lad,"  he  said,  "it  seems  that  fate  has  brought 
us  together.  You  have  told  me  your  story,  but  I  fan- 
cied you  did  not  tell  everything.     Was  I  right?" 

"You  were,"  acknowledged  Bart. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  pry  into  your  secrets,  but  I  stand 
ready  to  give  you  whatever  assistance  I  can  in  this 
battle  against  a  man  who  has  wronged  you.  If  you 
told  me  all " 

"I  will,"  impulsively  broke  in  the  boy  from  the 
West.  "Thar's  not  much  more  to  tell,  but  I  reckon  I 
have  reasons  to  believe  my  father  came  to  his  death  in 
an  underhand  manner." 

Mr.  Van  Worth  started  and  looked  doubly  inter- 
ested, while  Bart  continued : 

"I  told  you  how  I  unmasked  the  thief,  but  I  did  not 


98  A  Strong  Ally. 

tell  you  be  let  fall  words  which  led  me  to  believe  father 
was  foully  dealt  with." 

He  then  went  on  and  related  all  that  had  passed 
within  the  restaurant,  and  Roger  Van  Worth's  face 
grew  stern  and  cold  as  he  listened.  At  the  end,  the 
man  was  on  his  feet,  agitated  with  horror  and  indigna- 
tion. 

"If  your  suspicions  are  correct,"  be  hoarsely  said  — 
"if  the  words  of  that  crook  were  true,  Cyrus  Stark  is  a 
blacker-hearted  villain  than  I  ever  imagined.  It  is  my 
duty  to  the  memory  of  my  old  schoolmate  to  see  that 
the  wretch  receives  his  merited  deserts,  and  I  propose  to 
follow  this  matter  up  faithfully.  Stark  shall  no  longer 
enjoy  his  ill-gotten  gains  if  there  is  a  way  to  reach  him 
and  bring  him  to  justice." 

If  ever  Roger  Van  Worth  spoke  in  earnest  he  did  at 
that  moment,  and  Bart  had  found  an  ally  who  would 
prove  invaluable  to  him. 

"To-morrow,"  the  millionaire  went  on,  "I  will  en- 
gage the  best  detectives  in  the  city  to  track  down  Buck 
Prindle  and  recover  the  stock.  That  is  the  first  thing 
to  be- done." 

Then  followed  a  long  talk  between  the  man  and  boy, 
during  which  they  agreed  on  a  plan  for  the  campaign 
against  Cyrus  Stark  and  his  associate  sharps. 

Before  he  slept  that  night,  Bart  wrote  a  long,  hopeful 
letter  to  his  mother.  He  also  placed  in  a  wrapper  two 
or  three  of  the  papers  containing  accounts  of  the  lasso- 
ing of  the  panther,  and  Mr.  Van  Worth  sent  them  to 
be  deposited  in  a  corner  mail-box. 

The  tired  boy  slept  well  that  night,  rising  greatly 
refreshed  in  the  morning. 

At  thirty  minutes  past  ten  in  the  forenoon  Jubal 
Heep  was  in  his  office,  engaged  in  earnest  conversation 
with  Cyrus  Stark,  who  had  come  to  town  the  day  be- 


A  Strong  Ally.  99 

fore,  when   the  door  opened   and   Roger  Van  Worth 
walked  in. 

"Ah!  how  do  you  do,  Van  Worth,"  saluted  Stark, 
familiarly.     "Glad  to  see  you. " 

"I'm  first-rate,  Stark,"  was  the  quiet  reply,  as  Mr. 
Van  Worth  pretended  not  to  see  the  hand  that  was  ex- 
tended toward  him.     "Heard  you  were  out  of  town." 

"I  was.  Came  in  last  night.  Tried  to  get  away 
from  business.  No  go.  Wanted  to  catch  fish,  and 
now " 

"You  have  come  back  to  catch  suckers,  eh?" 

Stark  looked  surprised,  and  then  laughed  saying: 

"You're  not  given  to  joking,  Van  Worth.  It's 
something  new  for  you.  Suppose  you  came  in  to  see 
Heep?" 

"Yes;  I  wanted  to  have  a  little  business  talk  with 
him,  if  he  could  spare  the  time." 

"I  am  quite  at  liberty,  sir — quite  at  liberty,"  as- 
sured the  lawyer,  rubbing  his  nose  with  his  finger  and 
looking  doubtfully  at  Van  Worth.     "What  can  I " 

Again  the  door  opened,  this  time  to  admit  Bartley 
Stone,  who  promptly  advanced  into  tbe  room,  a  light 
of  satisfaction  in  his  eyes  as  he  saw  Cyrus  Stark. 

"You  are  the  very  person  I  wished  to  strike,  Mr. 
Stark." 

The  man  looked  at  the  boy  in  a  disdainful  manner, 
retorting: 

"I  think  you  have  made  a  mistake.  I  have  no  deal- 
ings with  striplings." 

Bart  flushed,  but  held  his  temper,  saying  quietly : 

"Maybe  you'll  have  something  to  do  with  me,  sir. 
Out  whar  I  come  from,  some  boys  get  to  be  men  a 
heap  sight  sooner  than  boys  do  hyar.  My  name's  Bart- 
ley Stone,  and  I'm  the  son  of  your  pard  as  was,  Nor- 
man Stone." 


ioo  A  Strong-  Ally. 

"I  remember  him,"  and  Stark's  lip  curled,  as  he 
caressed  his  black  beard.  "Died  in  debt  to  me — never 
got  what  was  due — dead  loss." 

The  flush  left  the  face  of  the  Western  lad,  and  he 
was  unable  to  keep  the  indignant  ring  out  of  his  voice 
as  he  cried : 

"My  father  was  in  debt  to  no  man  when  he  died  !  I 
do  not  think  you  have  any  reason  to  speak  of  him  in 
that  yar  way,  and  I  don't  like  it  none  whatever!" 

Stark  laughed  outright,  as  he  picked  up  a  half- 
smoked  cigar  and  began  to  chew  on  it,  as  it  was  no 
longer  burning. 

"Hear  the  young  whippersnapper!"  was  his  con- 
temptous  exclamation.  "Oh,  well!  he's  only  a  boy. 
What  do  you  want  of  me,  youngster?  My  time  is 
valuable." 

"I  purchased  the  entire  stock  of  the  White  Hawse 
Mine  from  your  agent,  Mr.  Ira  D.  Wilson,  but  before 
he  could  deliver  the  shares,  they  were  roped  by  a  thief. 
I  paid  him  fifty  dollars  to  bind  the  bargain,  and  now  I 
want  to  squar'  for  the  rest." 

As  he  said  this,  Bart  took  a  fat  roll  of  bills  from  his 
pocket  and  stepped  to  the  square  table  in  the  center  of 
the  room,  at  which  Cyrus  Stark  was  sitting. 

"Hold  on!"  admonished  the  man.  "I  don't  know  a 
thing  about  any  such  transaction.  Mr.  Wilson  is  the 
man  for  you  to  deal  with." 

"Where  can  I  find  him?" 

"In  Europe." 

"What?" 

"He  sailed  yesterday  afternoon,"  calmly  declared 
Cyrus  Stark,  a  gleam  of  triumph  in  his  small  eyes. 


Bart's  Accusation.  101 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BART'S    ACCUSATION. 

This  was,  for  a  moment,  a  staggerer  for  Bart ;  but 
the  boy  quickly  recovered. 

"Wa-al,  it  an't  just  naturally  needful  that  I  do  up 
this  yar  business  with  him.  I  can  bring  a  right  smart 
bit  of  witnesses  as  will  sw'ar  he  acknowledged  the 
trade  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel." 

Stark  snapped  his  fingers. 

"If  Mr.  Wilson  made  such  a  bargain  as  you  claim, 
he  overreached  himself,  young  man." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Mr.  Heep,  my  lawyer  here,  intrusted  that  stock  in 
his  hands  to  be  disposed  of  in  England.  Ira  Wilson 
had  no  authority  to  sell  a  single  share  in  this  country. 
Mr.  Heep  was  quite  capable  to  attend  to  anything  of 
that  sort." 

"That's  right!  that's  right!"  nodded  Heep.  "Mr. 
Stark  is  correct  in  this  matter.  You  will  have  to  look 
to  Wilson  for  the  fifty  dollars,  young  fellow.  As  for 
the  shares,  you  have  not  purchased  them,  and  you  can- 
not obtain  them  at  any  price." 

It  certainly  seemed  as  if  the  boy  was  squarely  balked 
in  his  purpose,  being  no  match  for  the  scheming  rascal 
who  had  swindled  his  mother;  but  still  he  would  not 
give  up.  For  an  instant  his  eyes  met  those  of  Roger 
Van  Worth,  who  was  listening  with  apparent  uncon- 
cern, and  he  saw  encouragement  in  the  glance  of  his 
millionaire  friend. 


102  Bart's  Accusation. 

"That  thar's  very  well,  Mr.  Stark;  but  I  give  you 
fair  warning  I  shall  make  a  right  smart  rustle  for  the 
shares.     Do  you  refuse  to  accept  this  money?" 

"Certainly  Ida" 

"Wa-al,  I  have  put  detectives  out  after  the  thief, 
and  when  I  get  possession  of  the  certificates,  I  shall  do 
my  level  best  to  hold  them  by  law." 

Cyrus  Stark  smiled  grimly,  retorting: 

"You  are  troubling  yourself  for  nothing,  boy.  You 
may  as  well  call  in  your  detectives." 

Bart  felt  his  heart  sink. 

"Call  them  in?     Why?" 

"They  may  find  the  thief,  but  they  will  not  find  the 
stock." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  is  no  longer  in  his  possession." 

"Then  where  is  it?" 

"Where  I  can  put  my  hand  on  it  when  I  want  to  do 
so.  It  is  plain  you  came  on  from  Kansas  with  an  idea 
you  were  going  to  get  the  best  of  me  in  this  matter ; 
but  I  advise  you  to  go  back  as  soon  as  possible." 

"That's  correct,  governor!"  cried  a  familiar  voice; 
and  Walter  Stark,  who  had  quietly  entered  a  few 
seconds  before,  came  forward,  smiling  scornfully  at 
Bart.  "I  told  this  remarkable  individual  from  the 
wild  and  woolly  West  that  he  was  altogether  too  slow 
for  this  part  of  the  country,  and  it  is  possible  he  may 
tumble  to  the  fact  that  I  was  right." 

It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  the  Kansas  lad 
held  himself  in  check,  as  he  returned :  i 

"Out  whar  I  come  from  people  have  a  way  of  fight- 
ing as  long  as  they  can  wiggle,  and  you'll  find  I'm 
built  on  that  yar  plan.  You  seem  to  have  the  best  of 
me  right  now,  Mr.  Stark,  but  I  don't  propose  to  give 
up." 


\ 


Bart's  Accusation.  103 


"Oh,  all  right.  You  are  simply  putting  yourself  to 
lots  of  bother  for  nothing.  The  old  mine  may  not  be 
worth  anything,  after  all,  but  I'll  soon  have  that  point 
settled,  as  I  have  sent  an  expert  on  to  examine  it.  If 
there  is  anything  in  it,  you  may  be  sure  the  stock  will 
remain  beyond  your  reach. 

"Now,  I  trust  you  will  have  sense  enough  to  with- 
draw and  give  me  no  further  trouble  at  present.  If 
you  continue  to  annoy  me  I  shall  have  you  arrested." 

That  was  more  than  Bart  could  swallow.  All  his 
pent-up  passion  burst  forth. 

"Arrest  if  you  dare,  Mr.  Cyrus  Stark!  If  justice 
was  done,  I  reckon  you'd  be  the  one  arrested!  You're 
not  only  a  swindler  of  women,  but  thar's  a  blacker 
stain  of  crime  on  your  soul !" 

"Young  dog!"  hissed  Stark,  starting  to  his  feet. 
"Do  you  dare  make  such  talk  to  me?" 

"Yes;  and  I  dare  make  more.  I  dare  say  that  if 
the  whole  black  truth  was  known,  you'd  make  a  right 
peert  subject  for  a  lynching  bee!" 

"Heep!  Heep!  Will  you  have  this  in  your  office? 
Throw  him  out!" 

"Stop!  The  galoot  that  lays  a  paw  on  me  will  get 
hurt  plenty  quick!  I  want  to  tell  you,  Mr.  Cyrus 
Stark,  that  I  know  how  my  father  was  killed!" 

The  millionaire  scoundrel  recoiled,  his  face  paling 
and  a  look  of  absolute  terror  entering  his  eyes. 

"How — he — was — killed!"  he  gasped,  his  voice 
shaking.  And  then,  with  a  mighty  effort,  he  recovered, 
to  go  on :  "He  was  killed  by  a  premature  blast — it  was 
an  accident." 

"An  accident  well  planned!" 

"Do  you  dare  insinuate " 

"You  saw  him  when  he  died — or,  at  least,  you  were 
one  of  the  last  to  see  him  alive." 


io4  Bart's  Accusation. 

"What  of  that?" 

"A  heap,  Mr.  Cyrus  Stark.  The  time  is  not  far  dis- 
tant when  you'll  be  rounded  up  by  the  law  and  forced 
to  swallow  the  dose  you  deserve." 

These  words  had  flowed  hotly  from  the  lips  of  the 
speaker,  and  the  witnesses  of  the  scene  were  impressed 
by  what  they  beheld  and  heard. 

Now,  however,  Walter  Stark,  fairly  boiling  with 
fury,  cried  out: 

"What's  the  dirty  cur  trying  to  get  through  him, 
governor?     Is  he  accusing  you  of  killing  somebody?" 

"No,  no!"  hastily  answered  the  man.  "It's  all  a 
mistake!     The  boy  wouldn't  dare!" 

"Well,  it  seems  to  me  that  he  has  dared,"  snapped 
Walter;  "and  I  propose  to  put  a  new  face  on  him  for 
it!  I'll  throw  him  out  on  his  neck,  that's  what  I'll 
do!" 

"By  this  time  you  ought  to  know  better'n  to  try  that 
thar  trick,"  came  from  Bart's  lips,  as  the  other  boy 
advanced  upon  him.  "You'll  get  hurt  again,  or  I 
don't  know  shucks!" 

"Bah!     It  was  an  accident  before.     This  time " 

He  finished  by  darting  at  the  young  cowboy  and 
clutching  him  about  the  waist,  obtaining  both  under 
holds.  It  certainly  seemed  he  had  such  an  advantage 
that  Bart  would  be  easily  handled,  and  Walter  cried : 

"Open  the  door!     I'll  throw  him —     Ug-g-g-gh  !" 

The  words  ended  with  a  choking  groan,  the  speaker 
being  unable  to  utter  another  sound,  for  while  Bart's  left 
arm  clasped  him  tightly  around  the  shoulders,  the  West- 
ern lad's  right  forearm  had  been  inserted  under  Walter's 
chin,  and  a  single  strong  thrust  forced  the  head  of  the 
millionaire's  son  back  until  the  bones  of  his  neck 
cracked  and  his  eyes  protruded. 

In  truth,  had  he  chosen,  the  Kansas  boy  could  have 


Bart's  Accusation.  105 

broken  the  neck  of  his  adversary,  in  that  manner.  As 
it  was,  Walter  felt  himself  robbed  of  his  strength  in  a 
moment,  and  he  sank  limply  into  Bart's  grasp. 

Cyrus  Stark  had  dropped  weakly  into  his  chair  at 
the  table,  where  he  sat  staring  at  the  two  boys,  seem- 
ing dazed. 

Bart  Stone  lifted  his  foe  from  the  floor  and  gave  him 
a  whirling  fling  that  sent  him  sliding  across  the  table, 
to  sweep  pen,  ink,  and  paper  to  the  floor  and  plunge  his 
head  fairly  into  the  pit  of  his  father's  stomach.  Father 
and  sou  tumbled  in  a  sprawling  heap  to  the  floor,  their 
downfall  being  accompanied  by  a  splintering  crash,  as 
the  chair  was  broken  and  ruined. 

When  they  gathered  themselves  up,  some  moments 
later,  the  boy  from  the  West  and  Roger  Van  Worth 
had  left  the  office. 


i06  Preparing  for  the  Race. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PREPARING    FOR   THE   RACE. 

"My  boy,"  said  Roger  Van  Worth,  when  he  and 
Bart  were  seated  in  a  cab  that  was  rolling  up  Broad- 
way, "you  are  a  wonder!  Walter  Stark  is  the  cham- 
pion all-round  amateur  athlete  of  the  Trojan  Club, 
and  he  has  a  record  for  doing  up  several  professionals, 
yet  you  handled  him  almost  as  if  he  were  a  child.  It 
is  remarkable!" 

"It's  all  in  knowing  things  he  does  not  suspect  I 
know,"  was  the  reply  of  the  rather  gloomy-faced  young 
Westerner.  "He  reckoned  he  was  tackling  a  critter  as 
didn't  know  shucks  about  fighting,  and  that's  whar  he 
fooled  himself.  I'm  just  naturally  slow  until  I  get 
woke  up,  and  then  I'm  quicker'n  a  cat  and  stronger'n 
a  mustang.  If  he'd  'lowed  I  knew  anything  about  the 
tricks  of  fighting,  I  judge  I'd  had  a  harder  time  in  the 
scrimmages  with  him." 

"Well,  it  must  be  you  have  taught  him  a  lesson  he 
will  not  forget.  It  was  beautiful  to  see  you  fling  him 
across  the  table  onto  his  father  and  send  them  both 
sprawling  on  the  floor.     You  upset  them  neatly." 

"But  not  half  so  completely  as  I  was  upset  myself," 
was  the  rather  doleful  rejoinder. 

Mr.  Van  Worth  glanced  hastily  at  his  youthful  com- 
panion and  saw  Bart  was  looking  completely  crest- 
fallen. 

"Cheer  up,  lad,"  was  his  advice.  "You  are  not  out 
of  the  fight,  by  any  means." 


Preparing  for  the  Race.  107 

"Wa-al,  it  just  naturally  looks  as  if  I  didn't  have  any 
show  now." 

"It  certainly  does  look  as  if  Stark  had  the  best  of  it 
at  present,  but  you  cannot  tell  bow  things  will  turn." 

"He  has  the  stock." 

"Yes." 

"And  he'll  take  good  care  I  don't  get  my  hands  on 
it.     Thar  doesn't  seem  to  be  anj' show  to  beat  him." 

"It  can't  be  you  mean  to  give  up?" 

"Wa-al,  none  whatever;  but,  for  all  that,  it  seems 
that  I'm  clean  out  of  the  game." 

"Remember,  I  have  promised  to  aid  you.  Stark  is 
a  speculator — a  gambler  on  a  large  scale.  While  my 
dealings  on  the  street  have  always  been  what  are  desig- 
nated as  'legitimate,'  I  am  now  ready  to  meet  this  man 
on  his  own  ground,  and  fight  him  with  his  own 
methods,  as  that  seems  the  only  way  to  punish  him. 
He  is  wealthy,  it  is  said,  but  I  believe  I  have  enough 
money  to  crush  him  in  less  than  six  months,  if  I  set 
myself  to  do  it.     And  you  shall  aid  me,  Bart." 

"I?    How?" 

"I  will  find  a  way.     How  much  money  have  you?" 

"About  five  thousand  dollars,  I  reckon." 

"That  may  be  enough.  If  you  need  more,  I  will  let 
you  have  it,  and  take  your  paper  as  security." 

"I'm  only  a  boy,  Mr.  Van  Worth.     My  paper " 

"Don't  worry  about  that.  If  I  am  willing  to  accept 
it,  why  shouldn't  I  do  so?"  t 

Bart  was  somewhat  staggered  by  the  proposal  of  his  1 
new-found  friend,  but  he  felt  a  glow  of  gratitude,  and 
his  spirits  rose,  for,  with  such  an  ally,  there  might  still 
be  hope    of  accomplishing  his  purpose.     Impulsively 
he  grasped  Mr.  Van  Worth's  hand,  crying: 

"You  are  too  kind,  sir!  I  don't  reckon  I've  don© 
anything  to " 


108  Preparing  for  the  Race. 

"You  saved  Ferda,  and  your  father  was  my  boyhood 
friend.  I  have  not  entered  into  this  matter  in  a  half- 
hearted way,  my  lad — I  am  in  it  to  crush  the  man  who 
wronged  your  mother  by  cheating  her  out  of  her  rights, 
and  may  have  brought  about  your  father's  death. 
Trust  me." 

"I  will." 

For  some  moments  they  were  silent,  while  the  cab 
rumbled  over  the  stones.  Suddenly,  Roger  Van  Worth 
asked : 

"Can  you  run?" 

"Wa-al,  a  little." 

"But,  for  my  purpose,  you  must  be  able  to  run  more 
than  a  little." 

"I've  followed  a  hawse  for  three  hours." 

"That  was  on  the  stretch,  and  therefore  a  test  of  en- 
durance. Can  you  make  a  swift  dash  for  one  hundred 
or  two  hundred  yards?" 

"I  reckon." 

"If  I  thought  you  could  win,"  muttered  the  man,  in 
a  musing  way;  and  then  he  was  silent. 

Wondering  what  this  meant,  Bart  ventured  to  ask : 

"What  is  it  you  want  me  to  win?" 

"A  race." 

"What  kind  of  a  race?" 

"I  believe  it  is  to  be  a  hundred -and-fifty -yard  sprint." 

"When?     Where?" 

"Day  after  to-morrow,  at  the  Rink.  It  is  to  be 
under  the  management  of  the  Trojan  Club,  and  Walter 
Stark  is  expected  to  carry  off  first  prize.  I  think  I  see 
a  way  to  begin  getting  even  with  Cyrus  Stark." 

Bart's  eyes  flashed,  and  his  nostrils  dilated,  while  he 
eagerly  asked : 

"Is  thar  any  way  for  me  to  run  against  Walter 
Stark?" 


Preparing  for  the  Race.  109 

"I  am  a  member  of  the  club,  and  so  I  can  enter  you, 
if  I  choose;  but  I  do  not  want  you  to  run  unless  you 
stand  a  good  show  of  winning." 

"How  can  we  settle  that?" 

"I'll  have  to  see  you  run.  If  you  think  it  is  any 
use,  I  will  take  you  into  the  country  this  afternoon  and 
give  you  a  chance  to  show  what  you  are  made  of." 

"I'd  surely  like  to  try  it,  sir." 

"Then  we'll  consider  that  settled.  As  soon  as  we 
have  eaten  lunch,  we'll  go  out  beyond  the  Harlem,  and 
you  shall  show  your  speed." 

That  afternoon  Roger  Van  Worth  and  Bartley  Stone, 
accompanied  by  a  professional  runner  and  trainer,  pro- 
ceeded to  the  country,  stopping  at  a  secluded  hotel.  Mr. 
Van  Worth  had  brought  the  proper  racing  rig,  and 
from  the  hotel  the  three  made  their  way  to  an  aban- 
doned trotting  park,  where  the  test  was  to  take  place. 

The  professional,  whose  name  was  Joe  Yates,  re- 
garded Bart  with  something  like  amusement  in  his 
eyes,  as  if  he  could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  at 
the  idea  that  this  boy  should  imagine  he  could  run,  for 
the  Western  lad  certainly  seemed  heavy  and  not  a  little 
awkward  in  his  high  boots  and  cowboy  rig. 

But  when  Bart  had  stripped  and  donned  the  tights, 
his  air  appeared  quite  changed,  causing  Yates  to 
whistle  softly  under  his  breath  and  gaze  admiringly  at 
the  lad's  magnificently  developed  legs. 

The  boy  from  the  West  was  certainly  built  for  an 
athlete,  bat  he  still  seemed  slow  and  sleepy  in  his 
movements.  All  this  time,  Bart  remembered  his  first 
race  with  Walter  Stark,  and  he  felt  sure  he  could  beat 
the  son  of  his  enemy,  for  he  had  threatened  to  pass 
Walter  Stark  when  the  young  fellow  struck  bim  sense- 
less with  his  cane.  But  he  wished  to  convince  Mr. 
Van  Worth  of  his  ability. 


1 10  Preparing-  for  the  Race. 

The  result  of  the  test  race  not  only  convinced  the 
millionaire,  but  it  astounded  the  professional  sprinter, 
as  Joe  Yates  was  forced  to  his  best  pace,  or  he  would 
have  been  beaten  around  the  track.  He  came  in  blow- 
ing heavily,  with  Bart  close  at  his  shoulder,  and,  as  he 
dropped  on  a  bench,  he  gasped  : 

"That  boy  is  a  corker!  Give  me  a  week,  and  1*11 
have  him  so  he'll  beat  an)'  amateur  in  this  country." 

"But  there  is  not  a  week  to  spare,"  said  the  delighted 
spectator  of  the  test.  ' '  He  must  run  against  a  first- 
class  man  day  after  to-morrow." 

"At  the  Rink?" 

"Yes." 

"Stark,  the  amateur?" 

"That  is  the  fellow." 

"I  will  fix  him  to-morrow  so  he'll  stand  more  than 
an  even  chance  of  winning  the  match." 

"Do  it.  Keep  your  mouth  closed,  and  name  your 
price.  You  will  both  remain  here  at  the  hotel,  and  the 
boy  is  to  be  trained  discreetly.  I  am  going  back  to  the 
city  and  enter  him  as  an  unknown.  There  is  a  decided 
surprise  in  store  for  Cyrus  Stark,  who,  I  understand, 
has  backed  his  son  heavily."  . 

If  Bart  had  not  been  in  perfect  condition  and  fresh 
from  the  plains  and  mountains,  the  training  he  was 
put  through  by  Joe  Yates  would  have  completely  in- 
capacitated him  for  the  struggle  to  come;  but  the  pro- 
fessional found  the  boy  hard  as  iron  and  able  to  endure 
almost  anything. 

When  Mr.  Van  Worth  appeared  again,  late  the  next 
day,  Bart  was  able  to  hold  his  own  with  Yates,  who 
once  more  declared  him  a  marvel. 

"I  succeeded  in  entering  him  as  Unknown," said  the 
millionaire,  "although  I  had  to  swear  he  was  not  a 
professional  and  had  never  run  for  a  purse.     I  suppose 


Preparing  for  the  Race.  1 1 1 

you  think,  Yates,  that,  barring  accident,  he  stands  a 
good  shew  of  winning?" 

"I'm  certain  of  it,  Mr.  Van  Worth." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  smiled  Bart's  friend,  "for  I 
have  succeeded  in  placing  a  wager  of  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars with  Cyrus  Stark  that  my  Unknown  will  beat  his 
son." 


112  "Go!" 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
"go!" 

The  Rink  was  crowded  on  the  evening  of  the  great 
athletic  exhibition,  which  proved  an  unparalleled  suc- 
cess in  the  history  of  the  Trojan  Club.  The  patrons  of 
the  club  were  of  the  most  aristocratic  and  wealthy 
class,  the  members  being  sons  of  bankers,  brokers,  rich 
merchants,  etc.,  with  an  occasional  wealthy  older  mem- 
ber, like  Cyrus  Stark  and  Roger  Van  Worth.  As  a 
natural  result,  the  spectators  at  the  exhibition  were 
men  who  could  command  millions,  and  whose  credit 
was  unimpeachable. 

Stark  himself,  evidently  in  the  best  of  humors,  sat -in 
a  conspicuous  box,  with  several  of  his  choice  friends 
close  at  hand,  a  basket  of  champagne  being  within 
easy  reach.  The  wine  flowed  pretty  freely,  and,  as  the 
time  for  the  hundred  and  fifty  yard  sprint  approached, 
Stark  was  frequently  heard  offering  to  wager  large 
sums  on  his  son. 

Roger  Van  Worth  was  not  in  appearance  during  the 
first  of  the  evening,  and  Stark  looked  about  in  vain  for 
him  until  less  than  twenty  minutes  before  the  hour  for 
the  race. 

"I  wonder  where  Van  Worth  and  his  Unknown  are?" 
he  cried  in  a  loud  tone.  "I  have  him  down  for  ten 
thousand  dollars,  and  I'll  win  the  money  so  easy  it 
will  make  him  tired  of  sporting." 

"Don't  be  so  sure  of  that,"  said  a  calm  voice  directly 
beneath  the  box,  and  Stark  looked  down  to  see  Van 


"Go!"  113 

Worth  standing  there.  "You  are  not  going  to  have  a 
walk-over,  my  friend.  I  know  your  boy  can  run  a 
little,  but  my  Unknown  is  a  pretty  good  sprinter." 

"He  won't  be  in  it  at  all,"  laughed  the  man  in  the 
box,  who  never  once  thought  the  Unknown  could  be 
Bart.     "Walt  was  never  in  such  trim  in  his  life." 

The  time  for  the  race  finally  arrived,  and  the  run- 
ners appeared,  coming  from  the  dressing  rooms.  Wal- 
ter Stark  was  the  first  to  show  himself,  being  dressed 
in  flesh-colored  tights,  and  really  looking  very  graceful 
and  formidable.  He  was  greeted  by  a  burst  of  ap- 
plause, as  he  walked  lightly  down  toward  the  starting 
point,  and  he  smiled  up  at  his  father  in  a  confident 
way,  the  elder  Stark  crying : 

"That's  my  boy,  and  he's  the  lad  who  wins  the 
sprint.     I  have  plenty  of  cash  that  says  so!" 

The  wine  had  loosened  the  man's  tongue,  and  he  was 
talking  much  more  freely  than  was  his  custom. 

The  other  starters  followed  young  Stark  down,  one 
being  an  English  lad  named  Burleigh,  the  second,  a 
New  Yorker  named  Hamp,  who  hoped  to  win  second 
position,  and  the  third,  a  French  Canadian,  who  gave 
his  name  as  Clukey. 

Stark  looked  eagerly  for  Van  Worth's  Unknown, 
but  that  mysterious  individual  did  not  immediately 
show  himself,  whereupon  the  father  of  the  champion 
amateur  called  to  Roger : 

"Where's  your  man?  If  he  fails  to  start,  the  money 
is  mine." 

"He  will  not  fail,"  was  the  retort.     "Here  he  comes." 

Down  from  the  dressing  rooms  shambled  a  figure  in 
black  tights,  and  the  companions  of  Cyrus  Stark 
laughed  outright  as  they  observed  his  apparent  awk- 
wardness. Stark  himself  grinned,  and  then  gave  a 
start,  staring  hard  at  the  lad  in  black. 


H4  "Go!" 

"Great  Scott!"  he  exclaimed.  "It  is  the  boy  from 
the  West!  Is  it  possible  you  have  wagered  your  good 
money  on  him,  Van  Worth?" 

"That  is  what  I  have  done,"  nodded  the  man  ad- 
dressed.    "He  is  something  of  arunner,  you  will  find." 

"He's  awkward  as  a  clown,"  broke  out  one  of  the 
men  in  the  box.     "Why,  that  fellow  can't  run!" 

"Of  course  he  can't!"  chorused  several  others.  | 

But  Walter  Stark  himself  knew  better,  and  he  was  ( 
gazing  at  Bart  with  a  feeling  of  dismay  and  consterna- 
tion in  his  heart,  for  he  remembered  the  race  at  Somer- 
set Falls,  when  he  had  found  it  necessary  to  knock  the 
Kansas  lad  down  in  order  to  outstrip  him. 

The  elder  Stark,  however,  knew  nothing  of  this,  and 
when  he  had  recovered  from  his  astonishment  at  the 
appearance  of  the  awkward  and  slow-moving  Western 
lad,  he  cried : 

"That?  Why,  he  won't  be  in  it  at  all!  If  that's 
your  Unknown,  Van  Worth,  I'll  go  you  two  for  one, 
for  any  sum,  that  he  does  not  take  first." 

Walter  Stark  whirled  around  to  warn  his  father,  but 
the  voice  of  the  man  challenged  was  distinctly  heard 
to  say : 

"Very  good,  Stark;  I  will  make  it  ten  thousand 
dollars,  outside  the  original  bet,  the  entire  sum  to  be 
posted  immediately.  Mr.  Clay,  at  your  side,  shall  be 
stake-holder.     Here  is  my  cash." 

Stark  was  startled,  and  he  paled  a  bit,  saying : 

"I  do  not  believe  I  have  so  much  at  hand,  Van 
Worth." 

"That  is  all  right,"  was  the  quiet  assurance.  "Just 
put  your  I  O  U  against  my  dollars.  A  man  of  honor 
never  refuses  to  acknowledge  his  own  signature." 

Stark  could  not  have  withdrawn  then,  if  he  had  so 
desired,  and  he  quickly  wrote  an  I  O  U  on  a  leaf  torn 


"Go!"  115 

from  his  notebook,  placing  it  in  the  hands  of  Clay, 
who  already  held  Van  Worth's  money. 

"This  is  like  finding  cash,"  he  laughed,  regaining 
his  composure.  "You  must  be  eager  to  throw  away 
j^our  wealth,  Van  Worth." 

But  the  man  beneath  the  box  had  turned  away,  and 
did  not  appear  to  hear  this  remark. 

Walter  Stark  set  his  teeth,  a  hard  look  coming  to  his 
face,  as  he  muttered : 

"That  cow-puncher  shall  not  beat  me!  I  will  win 
some  way — by  fair  means  or  foul!" 

"That's  right,  Walt,"  said  a  familiar  voice,  and 
Steinway,  who  had  overheard  the  words  which  fell 
from  the  amateur's  lips,  appeared  at  Walter's  side. 
"The  lumbering  chump  can't  beat  you,  anyway.*' 

"You  may  think  so,  but  I  tell  you  he  can  run  in  an 
amazing  fashion.  I  know,  for  I  have  raced  with  him. 
Can't  stop  to  tell  you  about  it  now,  but  I  confess  I  do 
not  expect  a  walk-over. ' ' 

Steinway  looked  somewhat  alarmed,  as  he  hastily 
exclaimed : 

"You  must  win,  old  man!  I  have  every  dollar  I 
could  raise  on  you  at  odds,  and  it  will  put  me  in  a  bad 
hole  if  you  lose.  You  must  run  as  if  it  were  for  your 
life!" 

"I  shall,  depend  on  that.  If  I  lose — well,  it  will  not 
be  my  fault." 

It  was  to  be  a  handicap  sprint,  Walter  being  rele- 
gated to  the  scratch,  on  account  of  his  reputation. 
Three  of  the  others  were  placed  in  various  positions, 
according  to  their  records,  and  the  manner  in  which 
the  handicapper  had  sized  them  up. 

To  the  surprise  of  every  one  except  Bart  and  his 
backer,  the  boy  in  black  was  placed  at  the  scratch  with 
Walter  Stark. 


n6  "Go!" 

Although  the  Kansas  lad  seemed  muscular  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  the  heaviness  with  which  he  carried  him- 
self and  the  sleepy  look  on  his  face,  caused  the  specta- 
tors to  wonder  if  he  could  really  run  at  all. 

"Oh,  give  him  a  show!"  called  Stark,  with  a  coarse 
laugh.  "He  won't  get  started  from  that  position  be- 
fore the  race  is  finished." 

"Don't  worry  about  him,"  advised  Roger  Van 
"Worth,  who  did  not  appear  in  the  least  anxious.  "You 
are  going  to  have  a  fair  show  for  your  money." 

"Thanks;  but  I  was  thinking  of  you." 

"If  I  lose,  Mr.  Clay  has  the  cash  ready  for  delivery. 
He  will  hand  it  over  without  delay." 

Everybody  within  the  huge  rink  was  anxiously 
awaiting  the  coming  race,  for  it  was  generally  known 
by  this  time  that  Cyrus  Stark  had  wagered  thirty 
thousand  dollars  on  his  son,  while  Roger  Van  Worth, 
who  was  equally  well  known,  had  staked  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  that  the  boy  in  black  would  come  in  first. 

Sympathy  was  with  Walter  Stark,  beyond  a  doubt, 
for  although  in  many  ways  he  was  not  a  popular  lad, 
he  spent  his  money  freely,  and  that  counted  for  a  great 
deal  with  his  class. 

At  length  the  call  was  made  for  positions,  and  the 
babel  of  voices  quickly  became  hushed  as  the  contest- 
ants assumed  their  places.  Every  eye  was  turned  on 
them,  and  scores  of  stop-watches  were  in  their  owners' 
hands. 

The  handicapper  moved  along  the  line,  making  sure 
that  everything  was  exactly  as  it  should  be,  and  then 
his  voice  rang  out  clearly : 

"Get  ready,  gentlemen!" 

Five  shapely  figures  leaned  far  forward  over  the 
scratches,  and  the  five  runners  held  their  breath  for  the 
word.     And  now  a  death-like  silence  had  settled  over 


"Go!"  117 

the  great  throng,  while  hundreds  of  hearts  beat  with 
increased  rapidity. 

The  starter  lifted  his  hand,  a  pistol  gleaming  in  his 
fingers  as  he  again  called : 

"One!     Two!     Three— go!" 

At  the  word  "go"  the  pistol  spoke,  and  the  contest- 
ants shoe  forward. 

The  race  had  begun. 


3i8  The  Race. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE    RACE. 

On  the  instant,  Walter  Stark  darted  ahead  like  a 
grayhound,  overtaking  Burleigh,  the  Englishman,  in  a 
moment.  At  the  first  bound  he  seemed  to  leave  the  boy 
from  the  West  slightly  in  the  lurch,  and  it  was  plain  to 
every  one  he  had  gained  an  early  advantage  over  the 
lad  in  black. 

Cyrus  Stark  laughed  aloud  as  he  exclaimed : 

"What  a  fool  Van  Worth  is!  He  ought  to  know 
better  than  to  buck  against  me.  Some  men  never  learn 
their  lesson." 

He  was  more  than  ever  confident  of  winning,  for  he 
saw  Walter  was  not  yet  doing  his  best,  and  he  had  al- 
ready passed  Burleigh,  and  was  right  at  the  shoulder 
of  the  French  Canadian,  while  Hamp  was  barely  hold- 
ing the  lead  he  had  been  given,  although  it  was  too  hot 
a  pace  for  him  to  keep  up  to  the  end. 

Walter  certainly  looked  very  pretty  and  graceful  as 
he  soon  dashed  ahead  of  Clukey,  and  reached  a  posi- 
tion at  the  side  of  Hamp,  whose  face  wore  a  desperate 
do-or-die  look. 

All  this  had  taken  place  while  the  race  was  yet  in  its 
infancy,  which  caused  young  Stark's  admirers  to  break 
into  premature  applause. 

Where  is  the  boy  in  black? 

Walter  asked  himself  that  question,  wondering  if  he 
had  left  Bart  Stone  at  the  start.     Had  he  looked  over 


The  Race.  119 

his  shoulder  he  might  have  been  spurred  to  another 
spurt  by  perceiving  the  Westerner  had  not  lost  a  foot 
after  the  first  bound,  and  was  close  behind  Hamp,  hav- 
ing also  passed  Burleigh  and  Clukey. 

But  what  was  the  most  astonishing  was  the  fact  that 
the  Kansas  lad  did  not  seem  to  be  doing  his  best  by 
any  means,  for  there  was  still  the  trace  of  a  lope  in  his 
gait  and  a  confident  look  on  his  face. 

A  large  number  of  the  spectators  saw  this,  and  the 
applause  died  away  to  a  breathless  silence  again. 

Then,  just  as  Walter  Stark  was  passing  Hamp,  the 
desperate  runner  stumbled  and  fell  directly  in  the  track 
of  Bart  Stone,  while  the  amateur  champion  darted 
ahead — alone! 

No,  net  alone! 

If  any  one  had  doubted  the  Kansas  lad's  quickness 
and  agility,  their  doubts  were  quickly  put  to  flight,  for, 
although  Hamp  dropped  almost  beneath  his  feet,  Bart 
shot  into  the  air  and  went  flying  over  the  unfortunate 
runner,  scarcely  losing  an  inch  by  the  accident. 

Clukey  and  Burleigh  were  not  so  fortunate.  The 
French  Canadian  cleared  Hamp,  but  lost  his  footing  and 
went  down,  while  the  Englishman  struck  the  first  man 
to  drop,  and  went  whirling  over  him  to  land  heavily 
on  Clukey,  which  put  all  three  of  them  out  of  the  race 
in  a  moment,  so  far  as  any  chance  of  winning  first  or 
second  place  was  concerned. 

This  all  took  place  inside  the  forty  yards,  leaving 
Walter  Stark  and  the  boy  in  black  as  the  two  principal 
cont?stants.  Walter  realized  what  had  happened,  but 
he  did  not  dream  Bart  was  so  close  until  the  Kansas 
lad  appeared  almost  at  his  shoulder. 

The  spectators  saw  Walter  gather  himself  and  rush 
forward  like  the  wind,  but  still  the  figure  in  black  hung 
thera  at  his  shoulder. 


120  The  Race. 

Fifty — seventy-five — a  hundred  yards,  and  still  Wal- 
ter Stark  was  unable  to  gain  an  inch. 

The  pace  had  been  a  fearful  one  after  the  fall  of 
Hamp,  and  the  young  amateur  champion  was  feeling 
the  effect  of  it.  His  breast  was  heaving  tumultuously, 
but  his  teeth  were  set,  and  a  sort  of  mad  determination 
gleamed  in  his  eyes. 

It  did  not  seem  possible  that  the  runners  could  hold 
out  at  such  a  speed  to  the  end  of  the  course,  and  still 
the  Kansas  boy  was  actually  beginning  to  press  Walter. 

A  perfect  furnace  of  fury  burned  in  Walter's  heart 
Could  it  be  possible  he  was  to  lose  this  contest  to  the 
boy  whom  he  had  learned  to  hate  with  all  the  fierce- 
ness of  his  passionate  nature?  So  furious  was  he  at 
that  moment  that  he  would  have  readily  chosen  death 
in  preference  to  defeat. 

Still  Bart  was  creeping  up  with  increasing  rapidity, 
threatening  to  take  the  lead  inside  the  next  twenty 
yards. 

If  he  could  hold  his  own  five  seconds  longer,  Walter 
knew  he  would  come  in  the  winner,  and  save  his 
reputation  and  his  father's  money. 

"I  could  kill  that  whelp!"  was  the  thought  within 
his  heart  as  he  plunged  forward  until  a  sort  of  haze 
came  over  his  eyes  and  he  was  threatened  with  blind- 
ness. 

Through  this  haze  he  saw  Bart  reach  his  side,  and  he 
knew  the  boy  from  the  West  would  pass  him  in  another 
second. 

"I'll  do  it !" 

Walter  staggered  a  bit,  and  then,  while  still  run- 
ning, he  swung  out  a  foot,  and  tripped  his  opponent. 

It  was  done  with  deliberate  intent  to  fling  the  other 
hoy  forward  on  his  face,  but  in  this  case  it  recoiled 
against  the  perpetrator  of  the  dastardly  trick. 


The  Race.  121 

Bart  seemed  to  realize  the  crooked  intention  of  his 
enemy,  and  although  his  foot  was  struck  by  that  of 
Walter  he  was  not  overthrown. 

On  the  contrary,  the  flying  feet  of  the  Westerner, 
who  was  now  running  with  the  grace  and  ease  of  an 
antelope,  seemed  to  knock  the  legs  from  beneath  young 
Stark  in  a  twinkling,  and  Walter  was  flung  heavily. 

Bart  nearly  went  down,  but  he  recovered,  and  ran 
on,  amid  a  wild  uproar  from  the  spectators. 

Burleigh  and  Hamp  were  entirely  out  of  the  race, 
both  being  injured  by  their  falls,  but  Clukey  had  held 
on  persistently,  and  he  now  followed  Bart  into  the  end 
of  the  course,  taking  second  place. 

Then  there  was  a  wild  rush  of  friends,  and  Walter 
Stark  was  surrounded  by  a  score  of  sympathizers,  as  he 
dejectedly  walked  to  the  termination. 

"Foul!  foul!"  shrieked  a  hundred  voices,  and  scores 
of  fists  were  shaken  at  the  winner. 

Stark's  friends  raised  such  an  outcry  that  the  voice 
of  the  referee  could  not  be  heard,  but  the  sccrer  chalked 
the  decision  on  a  huge  blackboard,  where  all  could  see 
it,  and  the  boy  from  the  West  was  given  the  race  in 
fifteen  and  one-half  seconds,  with  Clukey  second. 

The  third  place  was  left  vacant! 

Then  there  was  another  terrible  uproar,  for  it  was 
plain  to  every  one  that  Walter  Stark  had  been  thrown 
out  by  the  referee. 

The  mob  that  had  surged  to  the  floor  swayed  and 
raved,  hurling  their  threats  at  both  the  referee  and  the 
winner  of  the  race.  The  latter,  however  stood  breath- 
ing heavily,  somewhat  dazed,  but  triumphant,  with 
Roger  Van  Worth  and  Joe  Yates  wringing  his  hands. 
He  did  not  seem  in  the  least  disturbed  by  the  threaten- 
ing appearance  of  the  spectators. 

"Foul!  foul!"  again  shouted   Walter's  friends  and 


122  The  Race. 

those  who  had  placed  heavy  money  on  him.     "Stark 
was  beaten  by  a  foul  I" 

The  young  man's  father  had  sunk  back  in  his  seat, 
his  face  pallid  and  his  hands  shaking.  Twice  he  tried 
to  speak  to  those  near  him,  but  failed,  being  able  to 
summon  no  more  than  a  ghastly  smile  to  his  face. 
Every  one  could  see  he  was  hard  hit,  not  having 
dreamed  it  possible  his  son  could  be  beaten. 

At  length  the  referee  was  able  to  make  his  voice 
heard,  and  from  a  raised  stand  he  loudly  called : 

"The   board   shows  my  decision,    gentlemen.     Mr. 

Stark  made  the  foul,  as " 

Again  the  babel  burst  forth,  but  it  was  not  as  fierce 
or  long  continued  as  at  first,  soon  dying  away. 

Then  somebody  up  on  the  high  seats  was  lifted  to 
the  shoulders  of  two  friends,  and  shouted : 

"Hurrah  for  the  boy  in  black!     He's  a  dandy!" 
A  scattering  and  rather  faint  cheer  went  up  from 
various  parts  of  the  great  building. 

Under  cover  of  the  excitement,  Yates  and  Mr.  Van 
Worth  attempted  to  hurry  Bart  to  his  dressing  room, 
but  they  could  not  force  a  passage  through  the  mob  that 
blocked  their  way. 

And  now  a  hundred  voices  from  the  seats  took  up  the 
cry: 

"Unknown!  Unknown!  Where  is  Van  Worth's 
Unknown?     Who  is  he?" 

"I'll  tell  you  who  he  is!"  screamed  a  reporter,  who 
had  obtained  a  position  of  prominence.  "He  is  Bartley 
Stone,  the  boy  from  the  West — the  fellow  who  lassoed 
the  panther  and  saved  Ferda  Van  Worth!  Three 
cheers  for  Bartley  Seton!" 

The  result  of  the  reporter's  words  were  simply  mar- 
velous. 
There     was     nothing    weak    or      scattering     about 


The  Race.  123 

the  mighty  cheer  that  followed.  Everybody  was  on 
his  feet,  and  hats  and  handkerchiefs  were  furiously 
waved,  as  the  great  throng  literally  thundered: 

" Hurrah  for  the  boy  from  the  West!  hurrah!  hur- 
rah! hurrah!" 


124  Hot  After  Stark. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

HOT   AFTER   STARK. 

The  fickleness  of  great  crowds  is  often  astounding, 
and  it  was  almost  bewildering  in  this  case  to  note  the 
remarkable  change  that  came  over  the  spectators  the 
moment  the  name  of  the  boy  who  had  defeated  the 
heretofore  petted  Walter  Stark  was  made  known  by 
the  reporter. 

The  call  for  cheers  for  the  "boy  in  black"  had  re- 
sulted in  a  wavering  answer,  but  the  announcement 
that  the  winner  was  the  young  Kansas  cowboy  who 
had  roped  the  escaped  panther  was  enough  to  bring  a 
very  tornado  of  applause  from  the  great  gathering. 

The  spectators  were  all  intelligent,  and  but  few  of 
them  had  failed  to  read  the  lurid  accounts  of  the  way 
in  which  Bartley  Stone  roped  the  monarch  of  the  forest 
just  as  the  beast  sprang  for  Ferda  Van  Worth.  Not  a 
few  of  thera  had  felt  they  would  be  pleased  to  meet  the 
plucky  lad,  anyway,  and  when  they  realized  he  was 
the  person  who  had  run  the  race  as  an  "Unknown," 
and  succeeded  in  defeating  the  pride  of  the  Trojan 
Club,  they  gave  their  shouts  to  swell  the  uproar  of 
admiration. 

Round  after  round  of  cheers  were  given,  the  cries 
seeming  to  shake  the  very  roof  of  the  Rink. 

As  for  Bart,  he  made  a  desperate  effort  to  break 
through  the  crowd  and  reach  the  shelter  of  his  dress- 
ing room,  gasping : 


Hot  After  Stark.  125 

"Wa-al,  of  all  the  crazy  critters  I  ever  saw!  The 
whole  herd  acts  like  it  was  locoed." 

But  he  could  not  escape  thus  easily,  and  he  suddenly 
found  himself  lifted  on  the  shoulders  of  several  strong 
fellows,  who  bore  him  to  the  raised  platform  by  the 
great  blackboard. 

"Here  he  is!"  roared  one  chap,  with  iron  lungs. 
"Take  a  look  at  him!     He's  a  daisy!" 

After  another  volley  of  applause,  somebody  raised 
the  cry  of  "speech,"  which  was  taken  up  in  all  parts 
of  the  building. 

Roger  Van  Worth  had  kept  at  Bart's  side  with  great 
difficulty,  but  he  was  thrilled  to  the  very  soul  with 
pride  and  delight. 

"Hyar  them  galoots  whoopin'  for  a  speech !"  gasped 
the  Kansas  lad,  as  he  looked  at  his  friend  in  a  dazed 
way.  "I  just  naturally  can't  say  anything — and  I 
won't" 

He  meant  it,  and  all  urging  was  vain;  so,  in  order 
to  quell  the  tumult,  Mr.  Van  Worth  stepped  to  the 
front  of  the  platform,  pulling  his  protege  forward  and 
motioning  for  silence. 

The  cheering  and  cries  died  away,  and  Mr.  Van 
Worth  said,  speaking  loudly,  so  all  could  hear: 

"Gentlemen,  my  young  friend  is  quite  unable  to 
make  a  speech  after  running  such  a  race,  as  you  all 
should  know,  but  he  wishes  me  to  express  his  thanks 
for  your  kind  show  of  regard.     That  is  all." 

Then  he  whispered  in  Bart's  ear,  "Bow! — bowl" 
and  the  boy  in  black  obeyed. 

Again  there  were  cheers,  and  then  a  voice  was  heard 
crying  questioningly : 

"Is  he  really  the  chap  who  lassoed  the  panther?" 

"He  is,"  assured  Roger  Van  Worth.  "He  saved 
my  daughter  from  a  terrible  death." 


126  Hot  After  Stark. 

"Well,  he's  a  corker!"  returned  the  questioner. 
"Give  him  another  round  !" 

Another  round  was  given,  and  then  Bart  escaped 
from  the  platform  and  reached  the  seclusion  of  hi3 
dressing  room,  whc^e  Yates  and  two  assistants  rubbed 
him  down,  and  Mr.  Van  Worth,  congratulated  h  im  on 
his  victory. 

"You  will  find  yourself  in  all  the  papers  again  to- 
morrow morning,"  laughed  the  gentleman.  "If  this 
keeps  up,  you  are  on  the  high  road  to  fame." 

Bart's  blood  had  been  stirred  by  the  reception  given 
him  "when  the  crowd  knew  who  he  was,  and  a  hot  flush 
was  in  his  face,  while  his  sleepy  eyes  no  longer  wore  a 
sleepy  look.  If  ever  a  lad  looked  handsome,  be  did  at 
that  moment  while  the  men  were  at  work  ove?  his 
muscular  body. 

"Stark  was  giving  me  a  right  smart  race,"  he  con- 
fessed; "though  I  reckon  I  would  have  managed  to 
take  the  lead  at  the  finish.  I  saw  his  trick  when  he 
swung  his  foot,  and  I  fooled  the  ornary  varmint  by 
upsetting  him  as  he  meant  to  me,  though  I  near  went 
down  myself." 

"You  struck  a  heavy  blow  at  Cyrus  Stark,  my  lad. 
I  do  not  know  which  he  will  feel  the  most  keenly,  the 
loss  of  his  money  or  the  defeat  of  his  son." 

"This  is  the  beginning,"  came  grimly  from  the 
Western  lad's  lips.     "There  is  more  to  follow." 

Mr.  Van  Worth  left  Yates  to  attend  to  Bart,  while 
he  went  out  to  look  for  Stark;  but  Stark  was  not  in  his 
box,  although  Mr.  Clay  was  there,  looking  all  around 
in  a  searching  manner.  Roger  made  his  way  up  to 
the  box,  and  entered,  finding  it  entirely  deserted,  save 
for  Clay,  who,  hearing  his  step,  turned. 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  the  stakeholder,  recognizing  the 
other  man;  "you  are  the  person  I  was  looking  for." 


Hot  After  Stark.  127 


"Mr.  Stark- 


"Has  gone.  He  instructed  me  to  deliver  the  wager 
into  your  hands,  'which  I  will  do  before  witnesses." 

Clay  then  called  up  two  young  men  whom  he  knew, 
after  which  he  handed  the  money  and  the  I  O  U  over 
to  the  winner  of  the  wager,  saying : 

"Mr.  Stark  directed  me  to  tell  you  to  call  at  his 
office  any  time  to-morrow  and  receive  a  check  for  the 
amount  of  this  paper." 

"That  is  all  right,"  smiled  Mr.  Van  Worth  easily. 
"With  Mr.  Stark's  name  attached,  this  is  as  good  as 
his  check." 

Less  than  an  hour  later  the  millionaire  and  Bart 
were  in  the  magnificent  home  of  the  former,  where  he 
was  overwhelmed  with  congratulations  from  Ferda. 

"I  knew  you  would  do  it!"  laughed  the  impulsive 
girl,  her  eyes  like  twin  stars.  "I  did  not  have  a  doubt 
of  it!" 

"Wa-al,  I  thank  you  a  heap  for  your  confidence," 
rather  awkwardly  said  the  victor.  "I  kind  of  'lowed 
I'd  do  it,  but  I  wasn't  noways  sure." 

"The  entire  winnings  are  yours,"  asserted  Mr.  Van 
Worth.  "You  earned  them,  and  you  deserve  them — 
thirty  thousand  dollars  in  all." 

To  his  astonishment  Bart  firmly  shook  his  head,  re- 
turning : 

"I  don't  reckon  I'll  touch  it,  Mr.  Van  Worth.  My 
mother  always  told  me  not  to  bet,  and  I  do  not  believe 
she'd  want  me  to  take  anything  that  was  won  by  a 
bet." 

"Nonsense  1     This  is  a  free  gift,  then." 

"I  wouldn't  take  a  free  gift  of  thirty  thousand  dol- 
lars from  any  man,  sir." 

"But  you  ran  against  Walter  Stark  knowing  my 
money  was  wagered  on  your  head." 


128  Hot  After  Stark. 

"Because  I  believed  his  father  a  villain  who  has 
done  me  a  wrong  that  nothing  can  squar',  sir.  I  did 
it  to  strike  at  him ;  for  no  other  reason — none  what- 
ever." 

"Well,  you  are  the  queerest  boy  I  ever  met!"  cried 
the  man,  while  the  glow  of  admiration  in  Ferda's  eyes 
deepened. 

That  night,  before  retiring  to  bed,  Roger  Van  Worth 
unfolded  another  possible  scheme  for  getting  in  a  blow 
at  Cyrus  Stark. 

The  Denver,  Texas  and  Fort  Worth  Railroad  was 
contemplating  extending  a  branch  of  its  line  across  a 
tract  of  land  in  northern  Texas,  which  land  was 
owned  by  the  Pan  Handle  Land  Com  pan}7.  In  case 
the  railroad  crossed  the  tract,  its  value  would  advance 
enormously,  and  it  would  be  sought  after  by  specula- 
tors. Already  had  Stark  made  a  bid  on  chance,  and 
the  Land  Company  had  agreed  to  consider  any  offer  he 
should  make,  giving  him  first  opportunity. 

Roger  Van  Worth  had  means  of  knowing  exactly 
what  the  railroad  decided,  and  he  would  obtain  the 
knowledge  in  advance  of  all  others,  so  he  proposed  to 
use  this  information  to  defeat  Stark  in  his  ambition. 

A  meeting  of  the  railroad  directors  and  stockholders 
was  to  take  place  the  coming  day,  and  it  was  expected 
that  by  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  matter  would 
be  definitely  settled. 

With  the  object  of  reaching  Stark  again,  Mr.  Van 
Worth  began  work  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning, 
and  by  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  the  report  had 
somehow  got  abroad  that  the  railroad  had  decided  on 
the  extension.  This  rumor  had  originated  from  a  few 
words  which  seemed  to  slip  accidentally  from  Van 
Worth's  lips,  although  be  had  not  said  a  thing  that 
could  possibly  be  distorted  or  construed  as  a  statement. 


Hot  After  Stark.  129 

At  exactly  twenty  minutes  of  three,  Cyrus  Stark  en- 
tered the  office  of  the  Pan  Handle  Land  Company  on 
Nassau  Street.  The  manager  of  the  company,  together 
with  one  or  two  prominent  members,  were  present,  and 
Stark  was  greeted  with  business-like  formality. 

''Well,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  was 
seated,  "I  have  come  to  find  out  what  you  have  to  say 
to  my  proposal." 

"I  thought  you  understood  we  declined  it,  sir,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Ratcliff,  the  manager.  "I  endeavored  to 
make  that  plain  the  last  time  you  were  here." 

"Well,  I  didn't  know  but  you  had  changed  your 
mind." 

"Not  much.  In  fact,  we  now  hold  the  section  at  an 
advanced  price." 

It  was  evident  the  rumors  had  reached  the  Pan 
Handle  Land  Company,  and  Mr.  Stark  scowled  a  bit. 

"Then  you  have  determined  on  a  price?  Have  you 
any  objection  to  stating  it?" 

"I  believe  you  asked  the  privilege  of  making  an 
offer.     We  are  ready  to  listen." 

Without  doubt,  Mr.  Ratcliff  intended  to  take  full 
advantage  of  the  rumors  in  circulation. 

"I  am  willing  to  take  chances  in  this  matter  and 
make  you  an  offer  before  the  decision  of  the  railroad  is 
absolutely  known,"  said  Stark.  "That  is  why  I  am 
here  at  this  hour.  I  will  give  you  ninety  thousand 
dollars  for  a  free  and  clear  title  to  every  foot  of  land 
the  company  owns  in  northern  Texas." 

"Hold  on  thar  before  you  sell!'  cried  a  boyish 
voice.  "I'll  go  ten  thousand  dollars  better — a  hundred 
thousand  dollars,  spot  cash,  will  I  give  for  that  yar 
land!" 

The  door  had  opened  to  admit  the  boy  from  the 
West,  who  was  followed  by  Roger  Van  Worth. 


130  Matching  Wits. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
matching  wits. 

"Furies!" 

Cyrus  Stark  snarled  out  the  word,  as  his  eyes  fell  on 
the  now  thoroughly  hated  boy  and  the  man  behind  him. 

"How  do  you  do,  Stark,"  greeted  Mr.  Van  Worth, 
smoothly.     "I  trust  we  are  not  intruding?" 

"Not  at  all,  sir, "  promptly  assured  Ratcliff,  who  knew 
and  respected  Roger,  speaking  before  the  discomfited 
Stark  could  utter  a  word.     "You  are  quite  welcome." 

"This  is  merely  a  little  matter  of  business,  and  you 
know  business  can  always  wait,"  said  Stark,  sarcastic- 
ally. 

' '  I  inferred  you  were  here  on  business,  happening  to 
hear  your  offer  as  we  entered,"  returned  Mr.  Van 
"Worth,  ignoring  the  real  cut  intended  in  the  words  of 
the  other  man.  "My  young  friend  here  is  a  Westerner, 
and  knowing  something  about  the  Texas  Pan  Handle, 
has  taken  a  fancy  to  make  an  offer  for  the  tract  across 
which  I  hear  the  D.,  T.  and  F.  W.  is  going  to  run." 

liDo  you  mean  that  this  boy  really  makes  an  offer  of 
one  hundred  thousand  dollars  in  good  faith?"  asked 
the  company's  manager,  in  evident  doubt. 

"Certainly,  sir.     I  can  vouch  for  him." 

Ratcliff  drew  a  long  breath  and  stared  hard  at  Bart 
for  a  few  moments,  after  which  he  turned  to  Stark, 
who  was  nervously  pulling  at  his  black  beard  and  bit- 
ing his  lip. 


Matching  Wits.  131 

"You  have  heard  the  boy's  offer,  Mr.  Stark.  Do 
you  go  any  higher?" 

The  man  addressed  sprang  up,  as  if  to  pace  the  office, 
but  sat  down  as  suddenly,  replying : 

"I  don't  know  as  I  will." 

"Then  we  are  at  liberty  to  negotiate  with  the  boy?" 

"Look  here!"  and  Stark  thumped  the  desk  with  his 
clinched  fist,  a  black  look  on  his  face.  "I  want  to 
know  what  kind  of  a  sale  you  call  this?" 

"What  kind  of  a  sale?" 

"Yes,  sir;  is  it  an  auction?" 

Ratcliff's  face  cleared,  and  he  half-smiled,  as  he 
coolly  replied: 

"We  have  no  objections  to  selling  our  land  at  private 
auction,  if  that  is  what  you  want,  Mr.  Stark." 

"Confound  it!  It's  not  what  I  want!  It  is  no  way 
of  doing  business!  If  you  don't  know  what  is  right 
and  proper " 

"Stop  right  there!"  the  manager  broke  in,  rather 
warmly.  "If  you  pause  to  consider,  you  will  realize 
you  are  going  too  far,  Mr.  Stark.  You  are  letting  your 
excitement  get  the  best  of  you,  and  you  will  be  saying 
something  you'll  regret." 

The  man  addressed  was  checked,  and  he  sat  still, 
silent  for  awhile,  as  he  surveyed  Bart  Stone  from  head 
to  feet,  finally  observing : 

"You  seem  destined  to  cause  me  no  end  of  trouble, 
young  man.  It  strikes  me  you  are  running  a  bluff 
here.  If  so,  I  propose  to  call  you.  Mr.  Ratcliff,  will 
you  kindly  draw  up  a  written  statement  that  one  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars  is  offered,  and  see  that  this  up- 
start stripling  signs  it,  with  Roger  Van  Worth's  name 
also  attached  as  a  sponsor?" 

"What's  the  use  of  that  yar  trouble,  as  long  as  I 
propose  to  pan  out  spot  cash?"  asked  Bart. 


132  Matching  Wits. 

After  some  moments'  discussion,  Ratcliff  asked 
Roger  Van  Worth : 

"Will  you  back  this  boy  in  any  offer  he  may  make?" 

"Most  assuredly,  sir,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I 
am  here  for  that  purpose." 

"That  is  quite  enough,"  nodded  the  manager.  "If 
you  secure  the  land,  Mr.  Stark,  you  will  have  to  outbid 
the  young  man." 

Stark  ground  his  teeth,  his  heart  full  of  rage,  but  he 
spoke  hurriedly  when  he  had  glanced  at  his  watch : 

"All  right.  I'll  give  one  hundred  and  ten  thousand 
dollars.     Let  him  go  over  that  if  he  dares!" 

"Wa-al,  I'll  give  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars,  I  reckon,"  calmly  drawled  Bart. 

"One  hundred  and  thirty!" 

"One  hundred  and  thirty-five." 

Stark's  hand  was  not  very  steady,  as  he  took  out  a 
pocket  check- book  and  hastily  wrote  in  it. 

"There!"  he  cried;  "this  draft  is  all  filled  out  ex- 
cept putting  in  the  figures,  and  I  propose  to  stay  right 
here  and  bid  till  I  get  this  piece  of  land.  When  I 
write  a  draft  it  shows  I  mean  business.  I'll  give  a 
hundred  and  forty  thousand  dollars!" 

Roger  Van  Worth  had  taken  a  position  at  the  door, 
which  was  now  open,  where  he  could  command  a  view 
of  the  interior  of  the  office,  the  elevator  and  the  stairs. 
He  did  not  seem  to  be  greatly  interested  in  the  bidding 
for  he  watched  the  stairs  and  the  elevator  more  than 
he  did  Stark  and  the  boy  from  Kansas. 

Bart  had  chosen  a  position  near  Ratcliff's  desk,  lean- 
ing easily  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  his  wide-brimmed 
hat  in  his  hand.  Barely  had  the  last  words  fallen 
from  Stark's  lips,  when  he  said  : 

"I  will  make  it  an  even  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
dollars." 


Matching-  Wits.  133 

"One  hundred  and  sixty!"  almost  shouted  Stark, 
his  voice  shaking  perceptibly. 

"One  hundred  and  seventy-five  thousand." 

Again  Stark's  temper  gained  control  of  him,  and  he 
leaped  to  his  feet,  sneering: 

"What  a  wretched  farce!  I  tell  you  there  is  nothing 
in  it!  This  boy  will  never  make  good  his  bids!  How 
can  he?" 

"We  have  the  assurance  of  Mr.  Van  Worth,  which 
we  consider  quite  enough,"  said  the  manager. 

"Confound  it,  Van  Worth,  what  do  you  mean  by 
playing  this  game  against  me?" 

Roger  lifted  his  eyebrows,  making  a  gesture  of  pro- 
test with  his  right  hand. 

"You  are  excited,  Stark — that  is  evident.  You  are 
talking  about  games  as  if  you  never  indulged  in  any- 
thing of  tho  kind.  That  boy  is  the  son  of  my  old 
schoolmate,  and  anything  I  have  is  not  too  rich  for 
him." 

"But  do  you  intend  to  let  him  throw  away  your 
money?  How  dare  you  permit  him  to  sink  such  a  sum 
in  this  tract  of  land?  Why,  it  would  be  a  sheer  loss  if 
the  railroad  did  not  cross  it!" 

"Have  you  thought  of  that  yourself?  It  is  plain  you 
have  heard  the  reports  already  in  circulation,  but  you 
ought  to  know,  I  am  generally  around  to  catch  on  to 
such  things." 

"Then  it  is  you  who  is  really  buying  this  land? 
Why  not  come  out  squarely,  instead  of  doing  it 
tb     agh  a  stupid  boy?" 

"  The  stupid  boy,  as  you  call  him,  has  already  won 
me  thirty  thousand  dollars  of  your  money.  Perhaps  I 
consider  him  a  mascot." 

Like  a  flash,  Stark  wheeled  back  to  his  chair,  saying 
hoarsely : 


134  Matching  Wits. 

"If  you  get  this  land  you'll  pay  dear  for  it!  I  am 
going  to  fill  out  this  check,  and  offer  it  to  Mr.  Ratcliff. 
It  is  my  limit." 

In  a  moment  he  had  written  in  the  sum  and  torn  the 
slip  of  paper  from  the  book,  handing  it  to  the  manager 
of  the  Pan  Handle  Land  Company. 

"How  much  is  his  offer?"  quietly  asked  the  boy 
from  the  West. 

"Two  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  replied  Mr.  Rat- 
cliff. 

"If  I  don't  go  more,  I  reckon  you'll  accept  that?" 

"I  shall." 

At  this  moment,  Roger  Van  Worth  started  and 
coughed  in  a  singular  manner,  leaving  the  door  to 
walk  into  the  office. 

"Wa-al,"  drawled  Bart,  deliberately,  "I  'low  Mr. 
Stark'll  have  to  corral  the  land.     I'm  done  bidding," 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  the  triumphant  purchaser. 
"Your  nerve  failed  you  at  last." 

At  this  point  a  messenger  boy  entered  the  office. 

"Is  Mr.  Stark  here— Mr.  Gyrus  Stark?"  he  asked. 

"Right  here,"  replied  the  man,  as  he  caught  the 
envelope  and  quickly  tore  it  open,  his  eyes  running 
over  the  brief  note  at  a  glance. 

He  turned  pale  as  a  corpse,  and  with  a  gasping  cry, 
sank  helplessly  back  in  the  chair,  the  paper  fluttering 
to  the  floor. 


Stark  Squirms.  135 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

STARK  SQUIRMS. 

These  were  the  words  which  Cyrus  Stark  had  read, 
hastily  scrawled  in  the,  to  him,  familiar  handwriting 
of  his  trusted  attorney : 

"Street  rumors  false.  Make  no  deal.  D.,  L.  and 
F.  W.  decided  against  the  extension  across  the  Pan 
Handle  Land  Company's  grant.  Heep." 

At  first  Stark's  face  was  ghastly  white,  and  he 
seemed  on  the  verge  of  fainting;  then  there  came  a 
rush  of  blood  that  turned  his  features  crimsori,  and 
from  crimson  to  purple.  His  eyes  stared,  and  he 
clawed  convulsively  at  his  throat. 

Ratcliff,  still  holding  the  draft  in  his  hands,  started 
to  his  feet  in  alarm,  exclaiming: 

"The  man  is  having  a  stroke  of  apoplexy!" 

The  other  gentlemen  were  on  their  feet  in  a  moment, 
some  one  crying : 

"Call  a  physician  1" 

The  agitated  man,  however,  tore  open  his  collar  and 
motioned  for  them  to  sit  down. 

"Water!"  he  finally  gasped. 

A  glass  of  water  was  quickly  brought,  and,  after  a 
few  swallows,  Stark's  face  slowly  assumed  its  proper 
color,  and  he  began  to  appear  natural. 

There  was  no  look  of  triumph  on  the  face  of  the  boy 
from  the  West,  nor  did  he  seem  in  the  least  alarmed  by 


136  Stark  Squirms. 

Stark's  manner.  Stooping,  he  picked  up  the  message 
and  placed  it  on  the  desk  at  the  man's  elbow. 

Roger  Van  Worth  displayed  a  certain  amount  of 
solicitude  for  Stark,  but  was  not  greatly  excited,  al- 
though he  seemed  relieved  when  the  schemer  recovered. 

Ratcliff  sank  back  in  his  chair,  but  the  other  gentle- 
men remained  standing. 

The  messenger  was  waiting  for  Stark  to  sign,  which 
was  soon  attended  to,  and  then  he  took  his  departure. 

"It  is  apparent  you  have  received  bad  news,"  ob- 
served Roger  Van  Worth,  in  his  quiet  way.  "Nothing 
serious,  I  trust?" 

Those  words  cut  Cyrus  Stark  like  blows  from  a 
whip,  and  he  sprang  unsteadily  to  his  feet,  shaking  his 
fist  at  the  speaker,  as  he  almost  screamed : 

"You  hypocrite!  I  believe  you  knew  it  all  the  time  I 
I  see  through  your  trick  now!" 

Mr.  Van  Worth  raised  his  eyebrows,  and  looked 
mildly  astonished. 

"Is  the  man  crazy?"  he  exclaimed.  "What  can  be 
possibly  mean  by  such  language?" 

"You  know  what  I  mean!"  stormed  the  excited 
speculator.  "You  were  aware  the  railroad  had  decided 
against  the  extension!  It  was  a  deliberate  plot  to 
draw  me  into  this  trap!" 

Then  he  whirled  on  the  manager  of  the  land  com- 
pany, snarling: 

"It's  a  fraud.  How  much  did  you  have  to  pay  this 
man  and  boy  to  work  me  into  this  rascally  scheme? 
Oh,  I  see  through  it  all!" 

Ratcliff's  face  was  pale,  but  he  replied,  severely : 

"Sir,  you  are  using  unpardonable  language!  I 
thought  you  considered  yourself  a  gentleman!  You 
owe  us  an  apology !" 

Even  this  did  not  recall  Cyrus  Stark  to  his  senses, 


Stark  Squirms.  137 

for  he  raved  up  and  down  the  office  like  a  madman, 
uttering  words  that  would  not  look  well  in  print.  His 
fury  spent  itself  after  a  time,  however,  and  he  flung 
himself  down  in  the  chair,  panting  and  glaring  at 
Eoger  Van  Worth  and  Bart. 

The  manager  of  the  land  company  turned  to  one  of 
the  other  gentlemen,  saying: 

"Leland,  will  you  kindly  call  in  Mr.  Smith.  The 
papers  shall  be  drawn  up  immediately  and  the  transfer 
made  to  Mr.  Stark." 

"Hold  on!"  entreated  the  baffled  schemer.  "Let's 
talk  this  matter  over." 

"I  see  no  reason  for  making  further  talk,"  said  Rat- 
cliff.  "I  have  your  draft,  and  have  accepted  your 
offer.     That  settles  it." 

"I  suppose  I  have  been  hasty  in  my  language,"  con- 
fessed Stark,  with  sudden  humbleness;  "but  this  is 
enough  to  break  any  man's  nerve.  If  I  have  said  any- 
thing out  of  the  way  to  you,  Mr.  Ratcliff,  I  apologize." 

Although  this  was  said  in  a  conciliatory  manner,  it 
was  also  intended  as  a  roundabout  thrust  at  Roger  Van 
Worth ;  but  if  Stark  expected  that  gentleman  to  show 
he  felt  it,  he  must  have  been  disappointed. 

"All  right,  all  right,"  nodded  the  manager.  "I 
accept  the  apology,  Mr.  Stark.  Now  we  will  have  Mr. 
Smith  called  before  he  leaves  his  office  for  the  after- 
noon.    This  matter  may  as  well  be  settled  at  once." 

"Don't  be  in  such  a  hurry.  How  much  will  you 
take  to  call  the  bargain  off?" 

Something  like  a  cutting  laugh  came  from  Roger 
Van  Worth's  lips;  but  as  he  was  talking  in  a  low  tone 
to  Bart,  and  did  not  seem  to  be  heeding  what  was  pass- 
ing in  the  office,  it  was  barely  possible  he  had  not 
thought  of  a  return  thrust  at  Stark. 


138  Stark  Squirms. 

However,  Cyrus  turned  a  severe  glare  on  the  man 
and  boy,  both  of  whom  he  now  hated  with  undying 
intensity. 

"It  is  a  fair  and  square  deal,"  said  Ratcliff.  "I 
hold  your  draft  for  two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and 
I  see  no  reason  why  there  should  be  a  withdrawal 
now." 

"I  may  make  it  worth  while  for  you  to  withdraw." 
"I  think  not." 

"But  you  do  not  know,"  desperately  insisted  the 
schemer,  who  had  quite  lost  his  head,  or  he  would  have 
asked  that  Roger  and  Bart  be  requested  to  withdraw. 
In  his  eagerness  to  get  out  of  the  trap  into  which  he 
had  leaped,  he  was  humbling  himself  still  further  in 
their  presence. 

Ratcliff  lifted  his  hand  to  his  mouth,  but  when  he 
removed  it,  his  face  was  perfectly  grave. 

"For  what  sum  will  you  call  the  bargain  off  and  re- 
turn me  that  draft?"  anxiously  asked  Stark. 

"One  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  was  the  stagger- 
ing reply. 

Stark  looked  as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  in  the  face. 

"Sir!"  he  gasped;  "this  is  astonishing!  Do  you 
mean  to  say  you  have  beaten  me  to  the  extent  of  one 
hundred  thousand  dollars  in  this  matter?" 

"We  do  not  mean  to  say  anything  about  it,"  was 
the  cool  reply. 

"But  your  words  mean  as  much!  It  is  a  fraud — a 
swindle!     I  will  have  satisfaction!" 

Ho  was  getting  excited  and  violent  again. 

"Mr.  Stark,"  spoke  Ratcliff,  severely,  "you  will 
kindly  remember  we  simply  accepted  your  own  offer — 
nothing  more.  You  are  again  using  language  that  is 
unpardonable." 

"  I  will  give  you  ten  thousand  dollars  to  return  that 


Stark  Squirms.  139 

draft  and  cancel  the  bargain!"  burst  from  the  insnared 
schemer's  lips.     "I  will  write  the  draft  at  once." 

"You  have  heard  our  figures." 

"But  it  is  outrageous!  I  will  not  submit  to  such  a 
fraud!     I  protest!" 

"Mr.  Leland,"  once  more  said  the  manager  of  the 
land  company,  "call  in  Mr.  Smith." 

Leland  started  for  the  door. 

"I  will  make  it  twenty -five  thousand  dollars!" 
panted  Stark.     "You  can't  refuse  that!" 

"But  we  do,  just  the  same.  You  have  made  a  fair 
trade,  Mr.  Stark ;  why  not  stand  by  it?  You  should 
know  it  is  useless  to  kick  in  such  a  matter." 

"I'll  not  accept  any  papers!  I'll  stop  payment  on 
that  draft!" 

This  brought  the  matter  to  a  culmination,  for  Rat- 
cliff  arose  to  his  feet,  his  face  like  a  stone,  and  his  voice 
hard  as  the  ring  of  steel. 

"If  you  stop  payment  we  shall  have  to  bring  suit, 
sir!" 

"Bring  it,  and  be — hanged!" 

"You  will  not  think  of  such  a  measure?" 

"Won't  I?  Well,  you'll  see!  The  bank  is  closed 
for  the  day  now ;  and  I'll  take  good  care  you  do  not 
draw  your  money  to-morrow.     I  mean  it!" 

"You  must  be  out  of  your  senses!  If  you  do  such  a 
thing,  the  Pan  Handle  Land  Company  will  promptly 
bring  suit  against  you,  and  we  will  win  the  case." 

With  the  aid  of  his  chair  Stark  slowly  arose  to  his 
feet,  a  look  of  despair  in  his  eyes. 

"Man,  you  will  ruin  me!"  he  half-groaned. 

"Impossible!  A  man  of  your  standing  cannot  be 
ruined  by  the  purchase  of  a  tract  of  land  at  two  hun- 
dred thousand  dollars!     Now  you  are  joking!" 


140  Stark  Squirms. 

"You  do  not  know  all  that  has  happened  of  late " 

Stark  began,  only  to  break  off  abruptly,  as  he  evi- 
dently realized  what  he  was  saying. 

With  a  great  effort,  he  assumed  a  shadow  of  his 
usual  haughty  air,  turning  on  Roger  Van  Worth. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "you  have  beaten  me  in  this  matter, 
but  I  promise  to  even  things  up  some  day." 

A  sudden  change  came  over  the  usually  quiet  gentle- 
man, and  he  started  forward,  his  face  black  as  a  storm- 
cloud. 

"I  wish  to  hear  no  more  of  your  threats,  Stark!" 
came  crushingly  from  Roger's  lips.  "You  have  in- 
sulted both  myself  and  my  young  friend,  but  I  do  not 
expect  an  apology  from  such  a  man  as  you.  How- 
ever"— suddenly  producing  a  slip  of  paper  and  waving 
it  before  the  other's  eyes — "I  do  expect  the  cash  for  this 
acknowledgment  of  a  debt,  to  which  your  name  is 
signed." 

It  was  the  I.  O.  U.  for  the  sum  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars. 

At  first  it  seemed  that  Stark  would  give  way  to  an- 
other outbreak,  but  he  restrained  himself,  saying, 
with  something  like  his  usual  manner: 

"I  instructed  Mr.  Clay  to  tell  you  to  call  at  the  office 
for  your  money.     You  did  not  call." 

"No." 

"Well,  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  carrying  around 
that  amount  of  cold  cash  with  me." 

"Then  give  me  your  draft  for  it." 

But  a  moment  did  Stark  hesitate,  and  then  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  the  draft,  as  requested,  passing  it  to 
Mr.  Van  Worth,  who  bowed  and  smiled  with  all  his 
accustomed  suavity. 

"Thank  you,  Stark.  This  ends  our  dealings  with 
each  other — for  the  present." 


Stark  Squirms.  141 

"I  trust  so,"   was  the  retort,  as   Stark  refused  to 
recognize  the  significance  of  the  final  words. 
"Good-day,  gentlemen.     Good-day,  Stark." 
The  trapped  schemer  made  no  answer,  but  turned 
his  back  squarely  on  Mr.   Van  Worth,  who,  smiling 
quietly,  left  the  office,  Bart  following. 


142  After  Buck  Prindle. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

AFTER    BUCK    PRINDLE. 

The  man  and  boy  entered  a  cab  that  had  been  wait- 
ing for  them  at  the  curb  below. 

For  some  moments  after  the  cab  started  to  roll  north- 
ward, neither  spoke.  Mr.  Van  Worth  was  the  first  to 
break  the  silence,  and  he  turned  to  Bart,  saying: 

"We  have  made  a  good  beginning.  If  we  can  keep 
this  up,  you  will  soon  see  Cyrus  Stark  crushed,  and  I 
suppose  that  is  what  you  want?" 

"I  want  to  hear  him  confess — I  want  to  win  back  the 
property  that  rightfully  belongs  to  my  mother.  I  feel 
a  desire  to  avenge  my  poor  father!" 

"And  you  are  not  to  biame.  I  am  with  you,  and 
something  seems  to  tell  me  we  will  win  this  fight. 
You  saw  how  badly  broken  up  Stark  was.  Well,  he 
has  been  losing  heavily  on  the  street  of  late,  and  he 
hoped  to  set  himself  on  his  feet  by  this  deal  that  has 
gone  against  him.     How  he  hates  us  both!" 

"I'd  rather  have  his  hatred  than  his  love,  aheap 
sight.  I  never  in  all  my  life  felt  I'd  like  to  hurt  any 
human  critter  till  I  knew  how  he  had  injured  mother. 
Then  I  wanted  to  get  back  that  yar  mine,  but  I  reckon 
I'd  been  content  at  that  if  I  hadn't  heard  the  words  of 
Buck  Prindle.  They  'roused  a  suspicion  that  father 
was  dealt  with  foully,  and  now  I'll  never  let  up  till  I 
have  follered  the  trail  plumb  through  to  the  end." 

The  boy's  manner  showed   how  much  in  earnest  he 


After  Buck  Prindle.  143^ 

really  was,  for  he  was  grave  and  more  like  a  man  than 
a  lad  of  seventeen. 

"Buck  Prindle  is  the  man  we  must  get  hold  of," 
nodded  Mr.  Van  Worth.  "He  must  tell  what  he 
knows." 

"It  may  not  be  an  easy  thing  to  make  that  thar 
galoot  tell  anything." 

"Why?" 

"Wa-al,  I  kind  of  suspect  he's  mixed  some  way  so 
he'll  be  afraid  to  talk." 

"By  Jove!  I  believe  you  are  right.  If  not,  why 
hasn't  he  talked  before?" 

"That's  it." 

"Then,  when  my  detectives  find  him,  he  shall  be 
forced  to  confess." 

"When  your  detectives  find  him?" 

"Yes;  I  have  had  two  men  on  the  search  for  him 
since  you  told  Stark  you  intended  to  send  men  out  to 
recover  the  stock." 

This  was  news  for  Bart,  but  he  immediately  appre- 
ciated the  wisdom  of  the  gentleman's  course. 

Mr.  Van  Worth  went  on  to  say  one  of  the  detectives 
had  tracked  Prindle  to  a  low  joint  in  Brooklyn,  and 
there  the  trail  had  ended  as  completely  as  if  the  man 
had  dissolved  into  thin  air.  Still,  the  ferret  was  work- 
ing on  the  other  side  of  the  East  River,  hopeful  of  soon 
bringing  information  of  further  success. 

Little  did  the  man  and  boy  dream  how  soon  such  in- 
formation would  be  received.  When  they  reached  Mr. 
Van  Worth's  Madison  Avenue  home,  the  detective  was 
found  waiting  there. 

"What  news?"  eagerly  asked  the  millionaire,  as, 
with  Bart,  he  appeared  in  the  library,  where  Carrol, 
the  detective,  was  waiting. 

The  detective  looked  inquiringly  at  Bart. 


144  After  Buck  Prindle. 

"He's  all  right,"  assured  Roger,  understanding  the 
meaning  of  that  glance.  "He  is  the  boy  I  am  pushing 
this  matter  for.  You  ma.y  talk  before  him  freely. 
Have  you  found  any  trace  of  Prindle?" 

"Yes,  sir!" 

"Ha!     That  is  interesting.     What's  the  result?" 

"I  have  found  Prindle  himself." 

"Good!     Where?" 

"Out  on  Long  Island." 

"Indeed  !     What  is  he  staying  over  there  for?" 

"Because  he  can't  get  away." 

Mr.  Van  Worth  lifted  hi3  eyebrows  as  he  heard  this 
singular  reply,  staring  hard  at  the  detective. 

"Eh?"  he  exclaimed.  "I  don't  understand  you. 
Why  can't  he  get  away?" 

"He  is  a  prisoner,"  was  the  still  more  surprising 
answer. 

"A  prisoner?" 

"Exactly,  sir." 

"Great  Scott!  What  has  he  been  doing  to  get  him- 
self arrested?" 

"He  has  not  been  arrested." 

Roger  gazed  at  the  detective  as  if  he  could  scarcely 
credit  the  evidence  of  his  ears. 

"You  are  puzzling  me  very  much,  Carrol,"  was  his 
deliberate  assertion,  after  a  moment  of  silence.  How 
can  he  be  a  prisoner  if  he  has  not  been  arrested?" 

"He  has  been  made  a  prisoner  by  private  parties,  not 
by  officers,  sir." 

Bart  was  listening  with  eager  interest,  having  twice 
opened  his  lips  to  say  something  and  then  closed  them 
again,  trusting  all  to  tho  older  man. 

"By  private  parties?"  burst  from  Mr„  Van  Worth's 
lips,  as  he  began  to  suspect  the  truth.     "Who?" 

"Cyrus  Stark." 


After  Buck  Prindle.  145 

"I  knew  it!"  nodded  Bart,  unable  to  keep  silent 
longer.  "I  reckoned  as  much  the  minute  he  said  Prin- 
dle had  been  corraled.  If  this  yere  don't  prove  thar's 
something  in  what  that  critter  said  about  Stark  having 
a  hand  in  my  father's  death,  I  don't  know  shucks!" 

Roger  was  also  greatly  aroused,  and  he  cried  : 

"Tell  us  all  about  it,  Carrol— lively  !" 

"There  is  not  much  to  tell.  I  have  found  Stark  put 
private  detectives  after  the  man,  in  order  to  recover  the 
missing  stock,  and  Prindle  was  nailed  in  the  Ivy 
Green,  over  in  Brooklyn.  There  the  detectives  got  in 
with  him  and  managed  to  get  a  drugged  drink  down 
his  throat,  with  the  result  that  when  Mr.  Buck  Prin- 
dle awoke  he  found  himself  comfortably  and  closely 
confined  in  a  cellar,  with  a  tough  character  standing 
guard  over  him." 

"Where  is  the  cellar?" 

"Know  Jarley's  old  abandoned  road  house — the 
place  they  say  is  haunted?" 

"Yes." 

"The  cellar  is  under  that  house." 

"Did  Stark  get  the  stock?" 

"I  don't  know;  I  suppose  so." 

Roger  Van  Worth  was  silent  some  moments,  walk- 
ing swiftly  up  and  down  the  library.  Finally,  he 
halted,  wheeling  toward  the  detective  and  the  expectant 
boy. 

"Buck  Prindle  is  the  man  we  want  above  everybody  » 
and   everything   else,"  he   declared.     "If    we  do  not  ] 
get  him  soon,  Stark  is   liable  to  spirit  him  out  of  the 
country." 

"Wa-al,  I  reckon  we  can  get  him  this  yar  night!" 
cried  the  Kansas  lad. 

"How?" 

"Go  and  take  him.     This  yere  detective  says  thar 


146  After  Buck  Prindle. 

ain't  but  one  man  on  guard,  and  thar  are  three  of  us. 
We  ought  to  be  a  heap  plenty  for  one." 

"That's  right!  It  is  just  the  kind  of  talk  I  like  to 
hear.     What  do  you  say  to  it,  Carrol?" 

"I  am  in  you  employ,  sir,  and  with  you  as  far  as  the 
law  will  allow,"  was  the  answer  of  the  adventurous 
detective.  "This  man  is  held  prisoner  against  his  will 
by  those  who  have  no  right  to  do  so,  and  it  is  proper  we 
should  release  him." 

That  settled  it.  Without  delay,  Mr.  Van  Worth 
ordered  a  lunch  prepared  for  them  all,  and  instructed 
one  of  the  servants  to  bring  his  revolvers  to  the  library. 
The  lunch  and  the  revolvers  were  forthcoming  at  the 
same  time. 

"Can  you  shoot,  Bart?"  asked  the  gentleman. 

The  boy  from  the  West  smiled. 

"Wa-al,  a  little,"  was  his  modest  reply.  "I  heard 
as  how  people  didn't  tote  around  guns  in  this  yar  part 
of  the  country  none  whatever,  so  I  left  mine  at  home." 

"Take  one  of  these.     Carrol  is  armed." 

The  lunch  was  soon  dispatched,  and  the  party  started 
on  its  way,  crossing  to  Brooklyn  by  the  Twenty-third 
Street  ferry. 

A  team  of  high-stepping  horses  was  obtained,  and, 
with  Carrol  handling  the  reins,  they  reached  the  coun- 
try as  twilight  came  creeping  down.  On  into  the 
gathering  night  the  spirited  horses  bore  them,  the  beat 
of  their  iron  hoofs  making  a  rhythmical  ring,  with  now 
and  then  the  flash  of  a  spark  from  the  stones,  like  the 
glinting  glow  of  a  firefly. 

For  nearly  an  hour  this  steadily  continued,  and  then 
Roger  Van  Worth  spoke  in  a  low  tone  to  the  boy  at  his 
side. 

"Ready  for  business,  my  lad.  Jarley's  road  house 
is  not  far  away.     There  may  be  hot  work  on  hand. " 


At  the  Old  Road  House.  147 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

AT  THE   OLD  ROAD  HOUSE. 

In  the  western  sky  there  were  no  stars,  for  a  great 
bank  of  clouds  lay  there,  and  an  occasional  sullen  mut- 
tering told  that  a  storm  was  threatening. 

Somehow  there  was  something  like  a  smell  of  sulphur 
in  the  soft  country  breeze;  but  that  was  far  preferable 
to  the  smell  of  bricks  and  stones  that  actually  seemed 
to  pervade  the  city  at  the  close  of  sweltering  days. 

Bart  felt  his  blood  stir  as  he  listened  to  Mr.  Van 
"Worth's  words,  and  his  hand  went  around  to  his  hip, 
to  make  sure  the  revolver  was  there. 

But  his  nerves  were  steady,  for  the  excitement  of  the 
round-up  and  an  occasional  stampede  had  taught  him 
to  look  on  danger  as  something  to  be  constantly  faced 
in  life,  and  he  now  considered  himself  prepared  for 
whatever  adventure  might  follow. 

All  at  ©nee  the  detective  drew  in  the  horse  and  turned 
into  a  sort  of  lane,  driving  a  little  distance  from  the 
main  road  and  stopping.  .■ 

"We  had  better  leave  the  team  here  and  approach  ; 
the  house  on  foot,"  he  said.     "In  that  way,  we  will' 
not  give  the  alarm,  and  may  be  able  to  come  down  on 
the  guard,  and  take  him  by  surprise.     If  we  do  that, 
the  fellow  may  not  make  any  resistance." 

The  horses  were  hitched,  and  then  they  hurried  down 
the  road,  with  Carrol  in  the  lead,  stealing  like  grim 
specters  through  the  gloom. 

The  old  road  house  had  been  located  in  an  out-of-the- 


148  At  the  Old  Road  House. 

way  place,  and  it  had  never  borne  anything  but  a  most 
shady  reputation.  Jarley's  wife  had  died  there  under 
"suspicious  circumstances,"  and  Jarley  himself  soon 
closed  up  the  place  and  vanished,  going  none  knew 
whither.  Then  the  report  was  set  in  circulation  that 
the  old  house  was  haunted  by  the  ghost  of  Jarley's 
wife,  and  an  effort  to  open  it  and  restore  its  lost  popu- 
larity with  a  certain  class  had  proved  a  failure. 

Not  long  after  leaving  the  carriage  the  trio  saw  the 
outlines  of  the  old  house  looming  blackly  before  them. 
All  was  silent  and  dismal  about  the  place,  which  really 
seemed  to  have  a  ghostly  aspect. 

The  three  crept  up  cautiously,  following  the  line  of 
the  fence  and  crouching  low,  so  they  might  escape  the 
observation  of  any  one  on  the  watch.  From  the  fence 
they  darted  across  a  patch  of  tangled  grass  and  reached 
the  house,  making  no  sound  to  raise  an  alarm. 

They  had  not  been  challenged,  and  a  death-like  still- 
ness seemed  to  brood  about  the  place,  as  if  it  were  en- 
tirely deserted.  At  the  back  of  the  house  was  a  piece 
of  marshy  woods,  from  which  came  the  mournful  peep- 
ing wail  of  a  tree-toad,  and,  for  some  reason,  the  sur- 
roundings and  this  dreary  sound  caused  a  strange  sen- 
sation to  creep  over  Bart — not  a  sensation  of  fear,  but 
a  sort  of  shuddery  chilliness. 

"This  way,"  whispered  the  detective,  as  he  led  them 
toward  the  back  entrance.  "There  is  a  window  out 
here  that  I  can  open." 

But  when  they  reached  the  back  door  they  found  it 
standing  wide,  creaking  a  bit  on  its  rusty  hinges,  as  an 
occasional  breath  of  wind  swept  around  the  corner. 

The  three  halted  abruptly  and  stared  toward  each 
other  through  the  darkness,  evidently  trying  to  read 
the  thoughts  of  their  companions.  If  such  was  their 
desire,  they  were  baffled  by  the  deep  gloom. 


At  the  Old  Road  House.  149 

A  faint  flash  of  lightning  blazed  a  single  instant  in 
the  western  sky,  showing  Bart  the  expression  of  sur- 
prise and  consternation  on  the  faces  of  the  two  men. 
The  lightning  faded,  but  not  until  the  thunder  had 
muttered  in  a  faint  and  grumbling  manner  and  died 
away  to  silence,  did  one  of  the  three  venture  any  ex- 
pression.    Then  Roger  Van  Worth  asked: 

"What  does  it  mean?" 

"Give  it  up,"  whispered  Carrol.  "Perhaps  Stark's 
guard  has  stepped  out  and  left  the  door  open  until  he 
returns." 

"What  had  we  better  do — wait  for  him,  and  make 
him  our  prisoner  when  he  appears,  or  go  into  the  house 
and  look  for  Prindle?" 

The  question  was  open  for  discussion,  but  Bart  did 
not  venture  to  express  himself  until  his  opinion  was 
asked. 

"Wa-al,"  he  whispered,  with  his  usual  deliberation, 
"I  reckon  it's  best  to  go  in  and  find  out  just  how  the 
land  lays.  Maybe  we  can  get  Prindle  out  before  the 
guard  shows  up.  If  so,  what's  the  need  of  having  a 
racket  with  the  guard,  anyway?" 

There  was  wisdom  in  this,  and  it  was  soon  decided 
that  they  should  all  enter  the  house  and  make  sure  the 
guard  was  not  there.  Then  Carrol  could  go  into  the 
cellar  and  release  the  captive,  while  Mr.  Van  Worth 
and  Bart  watched  for  the  return  of  the  guard. 

They  were  pretty  well  prepared  for  whatever  might 
happen,  as  they  cautiously  crept  into  the  house,  having 
their  weapons  in  hand  for  quick  use  in  case  of  need. 

The  detective  had  brought  a  dark  lantern,  and  he 
opened  the  slide  as  soon  as  they  were  fairly  inside. 
This  enabled  them  to  find  their  way  about  without 
making  any  more  noise  than  was  absolutely  necessary. 

To  the  surprise  of  the  detective,  the  apparently  awk- 


150  At  the  Old  Road  House. 

ward  lad  made  lees  noise  than  either  of  the  others, 
moving  with  an  ease  and  caution  that  was  simply  re- 
markable. 

The  old  road  house  seemed  entirely  deserted.  When 
they  had  reached  one  of  the  main  rooms,  they  paused 
and  listened.  The  only  sound  to  be  heard  was  the  fit- 
ful clapping  of  a  loose  board  that  was  disturbed  by  the 
gusty  wind  that  seemed  to  come  out  of  the  night  at  in- 
tervals. The  sound  was  uncanny  and  awe-inspiring, 
like  the  dropping  of  clods  on  a  coffin,  and  Bart  shook 
himself  together  with  a  shiver. 

Had  either  of  the  trio  believed  in  ghosts,  there  was 
an  air  about  the  place  that  would  have  convinced  them 
it  was  haunted ;  but  it  happened  they  were  skeptics  in 
fact  as  well  as  in  statement. 

"Stay  right  here  until  I  go  down  into  the  cellar," 
whispered  Carrol  quietly.  "If  the  guard  comes,  jump 
on  him,  and  I  will  be  with  you  the  moment  I  hear  the 
racket." 

"All  right,"  replied  both  the  man  and  the  boy.  "Go 
ahead." 

The  detective  seemed  to  understand  the  arrangement 
of  the  old  house,  for  he  soon  found  the  door  that  led  to 
the  cellar  stairs.  He  left  it  standing  wide  open,  de- 
scending by  the  aid  of  his  lantern. 

Soon  the  light  disappeared,  and  the  man  and  boy 
were  left  alone. 

For  some  reason,  neither  ventured  to  whisper  a  word, 
although  both  felt  a  strong  desire  to  say  something. 
They  remained  silent,  listening  for  any  sound  from  the 
cellar  or  the  footstep  of  the  returning  guard. 

Within  a  few  moments  they  heard  a  low  cry  of  evi- 
dent dismay  from  Carrol,  and  directly  after  he  came 
hurrying  incautiously  up  the  stairs,  crying : 

"He's  gone!" 


At  the  Old  Road  House.  151 

The  words  rang  hollowly  through  the  old  house, 
awaking  strange  echoes  that  seemed  like  scornful 
laughter — or  would  have  seemed  so  to  a  superstitious* 
person. 

"Gone?"  gasped  Mr.  Van  Worth  and  Bart  in  a 
breath. 

"Yes,"  was  the  answer.  "He  was  confined  in  the 
cemented  storeroom,  but  the  door  of  that  is  open,  and 
he  is  not  there." 

"What  does  it  mean?"  cried  Eoger. 

"It  means  trouble — work — a  hot  hunt." 

"Then  you  think — just  what?" 

"I  think  it  likely  that  he  has  been  removed  to  some 
other  place.  Possibly  he  has  agreed  to  leave  the  coun- 
try, and  that  is  how  he  has  escaped  from  the  cellar." 

"Hark!" 

The  word  came  from  Bart's  lips  as  he  caught  the 
speaker  by  the  arm. 

They  all  listened,  and  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels 
was  heard.  The  carriage  left  the  road  and  came  to  the 
front  door  of  the  house,  where  it  stopped  a  moment, 
then  it  moved  again,  rolling  around  to  the  back  door  to 
make  a  final  halt  there. 

"Someboy's  coming!"  sibilated  Bart.  "Hunt  cover 
right  lively,  pards!" 

"Listen!"  admonished  Roger  Van  Worth. 

They  were  silent,  distinctly  hearing  the  voices  of  two 
persons. 

"It  is  Cyrus  Stark!"  softly  exclaimed  Roger. 

"And  t'other  critter's  his  son  Walt,  or  I  don't  know 
a  jack  rabbit  from  a  jack  mule!"  declared  the  boy  from 
the  West. 


IA2  Baffled  Rascals. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

BAFFLED     RASCALS. 

What  had  brought  Cyrus  Stark  and  his  son  to  the 
deserted  road  house  at  that  hour? 

That  was  the  question  that  flashed  through  the  mind 
of  the  trio  who  heard  the  voices  of  the  man  and  boy  at 
the  back  door. 

If  Buck  Prindle  had  been  removed  from  the  place  at 
the  instigation  or  direction  of  Stark,  something  of  a 
remarkable  nature  must  have  happened  to  induce  the 
man  and  boy  to  visit  that  lonely  spot  under  cover  of 
darkness. 

The  man  and  boy  could  be  heard  talking  in  subdued 
tones,  and  it  Was  evident  that  they  were  securing  their 
team  before  coming  into  the  house. 

"To  cover!"  once  more  whispered  the  Kansas  lad. 
"Them  galoots  '11  be  coming  in  this  yere  way  right 
soon." 

The  detective  flashed  the  light  of  his  lantern  around 
the  room,  revealing  a  door  that  was  standing  open  on 
the  long  hallway  that  led  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

"In  there!"  he  whispered.  "If  they  come,  we  will 
be  prepared  to  receive  them." 

Roger  Van  Worth  hurried  noiselessly  across  to  the 
door  and  into  the  hall,  Bart  at  his  heels,  with  the  de- 
tective following  close.  Carrol  swung  the  door  until  it 
was  only  open  on  a  crack,  at  which  he  listened. 

It  was  not  long  before  the  two  Starks  were  heard  en- 
tering by  the  back  door,  breaking  the  awesome  silence 


Baffled  Rascals.  153 

of  the  lonely  house  by  their  loud  voices,  and  stamping 
heavily  with  their  feet. 

"Where  can  that  worthless  whelp  be?"  stormed 
Cyrus.  "The  idea  of  leaving  the  back  door  wide  open! 
Ten  to  one  he's  drunk  again !" 

"I  won't  go  you  on  that,  governor,"  Walter  was 
heard  to  say,  at  the  same  time  forcing  a  laugh,  as  if  he 
did  not  feel  very  comfortable.  "He  is  surely  drunk  if 
he  has  been  able  to  get  anything  to  drink  of  an  intoxi- 
cating nature.     He's  a  guzzler." 

"Bob!  Bob!"  called  the  man.  His  voice  awoke  the 
echoes  of  the  empty  rooms,  and  Walter  was  heard  to 
gasp : 

"Great  Scott!  Hear  that!  Let's  get  out  of  here"as 
soon  as  possible,  old  man!     I  don't  fancy  the  place." 

"Don't  be  a  fool!"  harshly  returned  Stark.  "There's 
nothing  here  to  harm  a  kitten.  Where  is  that  misera- 
ble Bob?" 

"Perhaps  he  has  skipped,  pop." 

"Skipped?" 

"Yes — flew  the  coop." 

The  Starks  had  brought  no  light  with  them,  but  at 
this  point  the  man  struck  a  match.  It  flared  up,  and 
they  saw  the  cellar  door  standing  wide  open,  just  as 
the  detective  had  left  it  when  he  came  hurriedly  up  the 
stairs. 

"He  must  be  down  there,"  said  Cyrus;  but  there 
was  a  strangely  excited  ring  to  his  voice,  mingled  with 
a  quaver  of  doubt. 

"Go  you  odds  he  isn't,  pop,"  came  quickly  from  the 
boy's  lips. 

"Oh,  dry  up!     Come  on,  and  we  will  soon  find  out." 

"Come  on  where?" 

"Into  the  cellar." 

"Not  on  your  life,  pop." 


154  Baffled  Rascals. 

"What  do  you  mean?  What  is  the  matter  with 
you?" 

"Think  I'd  go  down  in  that  cellar  without  a  light? 
Nut  much!     That  kind  of  a  thing  lets  me  outl" 

"What  are  you  afraid  of,  you  young  fool?" 

"Nothing  in  the  world,  pop.  I  simply  decline  to  go 
down  there  and  take  my  chances  of  falling  and  break- 
ing my  neck.     See?" 

"There  must  be  a  lamp  about  the  place." 

Several  moments  passed,  and  then  another  match 
was  lighted.  An  exclamation  of  satisfaction  broke 
from  Stark's  lips  as  soon  as  he  held  the  light  above  his 
head  and  looked  around  the  room,  for  on  a  high  shelf 
he  espied  a  lamp.  This  was  soon  brought  down  and 
lighted,  whereupon  the  man  promptly  started  for  the 
cellar,  saying: 

"Come." 

"No,  you  will  have  to  excuse  me,"  said  Walter;  "I 
am  not  feeling  like  taking  so  much  exercise." 

"All  right;  stay  here  in  the  dark!"  snarled  Stark, 
as  he  began  to  descend  the  stairs. 

Of  a  sudden  Walter  changed  his  mind  and  hurried 
after  his  father,  the  precious  pair  descending  together. 

Not  a  word  was  heard  to  come  from  their  lips  until 
presently  a  hoarse,  harsh  cry  rang  through  the  cellar 
and  floated  up  the  stairs.  It  was  a  cry  of  mingled  fury 
and  despair,  and  it  was  followed  by  the  sound  of  ex- 
cited voices. 

The  rascally  father  and  son  had  discovered  the  cap- 
tive was  gone. 

Almost  immediately  they  were  heard  rushing  madly 
up  the  stairs,  uttering  excited  exclamations  as  they 
came. 

Up  into  the  room  they  dashed,  the  man  still  ahead, 
the  lamp  grasped  in  his  shaking  hand. 


Baffled  Rascals.  155 

"Gone!"  he  was  saying  wildly;  "gone,  and  I  am  a 
ruined  man.  Oh,  such  beastly,  infernal  luck!  We 
should  have  tortured  the  whelp  into  telling  where  he 
had  concealed  the  stolen  stock,  instead  of  trying  to 
starve  him  to  that  point.     Then —     Blazes!" 

This  final  exclamation,  with  which  he  interrupted 
himself,  was  caused  by  the  sight  of  a  person  who  sat 
astride  an  old  chair  that  had  been  planted  squarely  in 
the  center  of  the  room.  This  person  was  resting  his 
elbows  on  the  back  of  the  chair,  with  his  chin  comfor- 
tably planted  on  his  hands,  while  he  stared  at  the  as- 
tounded man  and  boy  in  the  coolest  manner  imagina- 
ble. 

It  was  Bart  Stone,  the  boy  from  the  West. 

For  some  moments  the  Starks  were  too  astounded  to 
utter  a  sound,  staring  at  the  lad  on  the  chair  as  if  he 
were  an  apparition.  Walter  was  the  first  to  regain  his 
composure,  and  he  gasped  : 

"Great  Jupiter!     Where  did  it  come  from?" 

The  words  seemed  to  arouse  Cyrus  Stark,  for  he 
grated  his  teeth,  a  wicked  light  in  his  eyes  : 

"That  miserable  boy  again!  He  is  my  evil  genius! 
He  will  ruin  me  yet!" 

"An  eye  for  an  eye  is  the  old  Bible  law,  Mr.  Cyrus 
Stark!"  came  grimly  from  Bart  Stone's  lips.  "My 
father  does  not  rest  easy  in  his  grave,  and  he  never  will 
until  the  ornary  skunk  that  killed  him  is  rounded  up 
as  he  deserves." 

"What  do  you  mean  bjT  saying  that  to  me,  you 
young  dog?"  almost  howled  the  man,  suddenly  making 
a  step  forward.     "You  want  to  have  a  care,  or  I'll " 

"What?"  Bart  put  the  question  with  aggravating 
coolness,  a  smile  of  contempt  on  tns  face. 

"Well,  you'll  go  to  keep  your  worthless  father  com- 
pany!"   returned  the  villain,  utterly  thrown    off    his 


156  Baffled  Rascals. 

guard.  "I  always  hated  the  man  after  he  refused  to 
take  me  in  as  a  full  partner  on  the  White  Horse  lead, 
and  so " 

He  broke  off  abruptly,  fully  aware  he  had  already 
said  more  than  was  prudent. 

"Oh,  don't  stop  thar!"  cried  the  young  cowboy,  all 
the  sleepy  look  gone  from  his  eyes.  "Go  on,  Mr. 
Cyrus  Stark;  go  on!     Make  a  full  confession." 

"Confession!  You  are  crazy!  I'm  making  no  con- 
fession." 

"Wa-al,  if  it  wasn't  mighty  nigh  it  I  don't  know 
shucks,"  nodded  Bart.  "You  had  a  grudge  against 
my  father,  and  you  wanted  to  get  hold  of  the  mine. 
Motive  enough  for  the  crime,  I  reckon." 

"Do  you  dare  accuse  me — do  you  dare?"  fumed 
Stark.     "You  fool!     I  will " 

"Stop  right  thar!  It  an't  healthy  to  get  too  near 
me!" 

The  boy  from  the  West  lowered  one  hand  to  point  a 
finger  straight  at  Cyrus  Stark,  which  halted  the  man 
as  quickly  as  if  it  had  been  a  deadly  weapon. 

"Lo  you  threaten?"  he  cried.  "What  have  you 
done  with  Prindle?     Where  is  that  stock?" 

"What  stock?" 

"The  shares  of  the  White  Horse  Mine." 

"Really,  pard,  you  ought  to  know.  It  was  not 
many  days  ago  I  heard  you  say  as  how  you  had  it  right 
fast.  I  don't  reckon  as  you're  a  galoot  as  can  tell  a 
lie!" 

"You've  got  that  stock — I  know  it — I  can  see  it  in 
your  manner!"  burst  from  Stark's  lips.  "You  shall 
give  it  up!     I'll  force  you  to  do  so!" 

"You  may  find  that  a  right  hard  thing  to  do,  pard. 
I  can  sometimes  be  coaxed,  but  I'm  worse  'n  a  donkey 
to  drive." 


Baffled  Rascals.  157 

"We  won't  spend  any  time  in  coaxing  you,  my  game 
chicken !  You  will  find  you  monkeyed  with  the  wrong 
man  when  you  tackled  Cyrus  Stark." 

"That's  the  stuff,  governor!"  put  in  Walter.  "He's 
worked  it  some  way  to  set  Prindle  loose  and  get  the 
certificates.  But  he'll  never  get  out  of  this  house  till 
he  tells  where  they  are!" 

Bart  actually  laughed  aloud  at  this  threat. 

"How  are  you  going  to  stop  me?"  he  asked. 

Walter  suddenly  produced  a  revolver  and  leveled  it 
at  the  head  of  the  boy  on  the  chair. 

"With  this!"  he  cried. 

And  still  the  Kansas  lad  did  not  seem  at  all  alarmed. 

"Is  she  loaded?"  he  drawled.  "  'Cause  if  she  is, 
you  want  to  look  out  she  don't  go  off  and  hurt  you." 

"Ready,  pop,"  said  the  lad  with  the  revolver. 
"Jump  on  him,  while  I  keep  him  under  the  gun!" 

The  rascally  father  and  son  moved  toward  Bart,  who 
remained  calmly  seated  in  the  chair,  observing: 

"You're  just  a  little  slow,  my  festive  galoots.  If 
you'll  take  the  trouble  to  cast  your  lookers  over  yon 
toward  that  thar  door,  you'll  see  a  brace  of  my  friends 
as  holds  the  drop  on  you,  and  holds  it  bad.  They  can 
shoot  some,  and  when  the  fun  begins,  you  won't  be  in 
it,  none  whatever." 

"We  are  right  here,"  spoke  the  voice  of  Roger  Van 

<rorth,  causing  the  trapped  scoundrels  to  whirl  about 
m  consternation. 

Stark  uttered  an  exclamation  of  great  fury  and  con- 
cern as  he  saw  Mr.  Van  Worth  and  the  detective  stand- 
ing in  the  now  open  doorway,  cocked  revolvers  in  their 
hands. 


158         A  Night  of  Desperate  Deeds. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A  NIGHT   OF  DESPERATE    DEEDS. 

"It  is  a  trap!"  gasped  Walter  in  dismay.  "They've 
been  laying  for  us,  pop." 

The  greatest  fury  was  expressed  by  the  face  of  the 
cornered  rascal,  and  he  snarled : 

"Satan  take  them  all !     They  can't  throw  me  down !" 

"Wa-al,  you  two  don't  seem  to  be  jumping  me  as 
much  as  you  were,"  drawled  Bart. 

"What  brings  you  here,  Van  Worth?"  demanded 
Stark.     "What  business  have  you  in  this  house?" 

"Thought  I  would  come  down  here  and  see  how  your 
captive  was  getting  along,  don't  you  know,"  was  the 
reply.  "It  would  scarcely  do  to  allow  Mr.  Stone  to 
come  down  here  alone,  as  there  was  a  chance  he  might 
fall  into  bad  company." 

Stark's  face  wore  a  look  of  the  most  intense  hatred, 
but  he  endeavored  to  speak  with  something  like  cool- 
ness, as  he  asked :  A 

"Wbat  have  I  ever  done  to  you,  Van  Worth,  that  I 
you  should  persistently  hound  me?" 

"Do  you  remember  the  great  safe  vault  scheme  in 
which  I  sunk  the  slick  little  sum  of  seventy  thousand    . 
dollars  all  through  your  misrepresentations?" 

Stark  winced. 

"I  remember,"  he  confessed,  "that  I  made  an  error 
of  judgment.  But  surely  you  have  squared  that  with 
me  by  this  time?    You  beat  me  out  of  thirty  thousand 


Sent  the  lariat  whirling  and  made  the  cast." 


(See  page  78) 


A  Night  of  Desperate  Deeds.  159 

at  the  Rink,  and  with  this  miserable  boy,  lured  me 
into  giving  at  least  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  to 
the  Pan  Handle  Land  Company  as  a  present.  What 
more  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  to  know  exactly  how  my  old  schoolmate, 
.  Norman  Stone,  came  to  his  death,"  was  the  stern  reply, 
causing  Cyrus  to  turn  still  paler. 

"He  came  to  his  death  in  his  own  mine  by  a  blast 
that  was  fired  by  one  of  his  own  men." 

Roger  Van  Worth's  face  wore  a  look  of  incredulity. 

"That  may  be  true,  Stark;  but  there  are  ugly  rumors 
afloat  about  it.  You  are  the  man  who  knows  the  whole 
truth." 

"No  matter  what  I  told  you,  you  would  not  believe 
me." 

"That's  right,  governor,"  put  in  Walter.  "Don't 
let  those  chaps  give  you  the  bluff!" 

This  seemed  to  start  the  man's  blood,  for  he  sud- 
denly grew  enraged,  crying  furiously : 

"Draw  revolvers  on  me,  will  you!  Do  you  think  to 
cow  me  that  way?     I  am  not  afraid  of  your  bullets." 

Then,  with  a  swift  motion,  he  whirled  and  flung  the 
lighted  lamp  fairly  at  Bart  Stone's  head. 

The  boy  from  the  West  ducked  just  in  time  to  avoid 
the  missile,  which  crashed  against  the  wall,  flinging  a 
P  flood  of  blazing  oil  over  that  side  of  the  room. 
v      In  a  moment  Jarley's  old  road  house  was  on  fire, 
doomed  to  destruction. 

Bart  leaped  away  to  avoid  the  burning  oil,  colliding 
with  Walter  Stark.  He  grappled  the  son  of  his  enemy, 
just  as  Cyrus  Stark,  shouting  fire,  leaped  with  a  crash 
fairly  through  a  window  out  into  the  night. 

"Stop  the  old  hawse!"  cried  the  Kansas  lad.  "I 
can  take  care  of  this  one. ' ' 

The  detective  and  Roger  Van  Worth  followed  Stark 


160         A  Night  of  Desperate  Deeds. 

through  the  window,  while  a  terrific  struggle  took 
place  between  the  two  boys,  who  were  left  alone  in  the 
burning  building. 

"This  time  it  is  you  or  I,  and  one  of  us  won't  go 
out!"  came  fiercely  from  young  Stark's  lips.   * 

"Then  I  reckon  you'll  stay,"  returned  Bart.  "But 
I " 

He  never  finished  the  sentence,  for  at  that  moment 
Walter,  who  was  exerting  himself  to  the  utmost,  sud- 
denly succeeded  in  casting  him  against  the  chair,  over 
which  Bart  fell  backward,  his  athletic  young  foe  add- 
ing his  weight  to  the  force  of  the  fall. 

It  was  the  unexpected  that  overthrew  the  young  cow- 
boy, for  he  had  not  been  on  his  guard  against  the  chair, 
and  the  back  of  his  head  struck  the  floor  with  terrible 
force,  fairly  stunning  him. 

"Knocked  out!"  panted  Walter  exultantly.  "This 
is  my  turn.  Let  him  get  out  of  this  house  the  best 
way  he  can." 

Then,  as  the  fire  was  spreading  rapidly,  the  young 
villain  left  Bart  where  he  had  fallen,  bounding  swiftly 
to  the  window,  at  which  he  paused  an  instant  to  look 
back.  The  Kansas  lad  lay  quite  still,  the  light  of  the 
flames  flaring  fitfully  across  his  pallid  features. 

For  one  instant  Walter  Stark's  better  nature  sought 
to  gain  control,  for  he  half  started  toward  the  imperiled 
youth,  gasping : 

"I  can't  leave  him  there!" 

Then  a  little  stream  of  liquid  fire  ran  down  across 
the  floor,  making  a  barrier  between  the  two  boys. 

In  a  moment  Walter  turned  and  leaped  through  the 
broken  window,  abandoning  Bart  to  a  fearful  fate,  for 
the  flames  were  closing  in  about  the  senseless  boy  with 
terrible  swiftness. 

Walter  dashed  away  into  the  gloom,  never  pausing 


A  Night  of  Desperate  Deeds.  161 

Until  he  was  quite  a  distance  from  the  doomed  road 
bouse.  Finally  he  turned  to  look  back,  and  by  the 
light  of  the  flames,  which  had  now  broken  through  the 
window  and  were  running  up  the  outside  of  the  build- 
ing, he  saw  two  persons  who  were  acting  in  a  very  ex- 
cited manner.  He  recognized  them  as  Roger  Van 
Worth  and  the  detective. 

"They  are  looking  for  Bart  Stone,"  muttered  the 
youth  hoarsely,  his  features  hard  and  set,  while  he  was 
shaking  slightly  with  a  feeling  cf  horror.  "They 
won't  find  him,  for  he  is  in  that  fire!  That  ends  all 
trouble  with  him;  but  I  shall  always  feel  like  a  mur- 
derer. It  is  terrible !  Why  didn't  I  pull  him  out?  I 
might  have  done  so  even  after  the  fire  ran  down  be- 
tween us.     Oh,  what  a  terrible  thing!" 

For  the  time  he  was  torn  by  anguish  and  remorse, 
but  then  it  was  too  late  to  retrace  his  steps.  He  had 
abandoned  the  Western  lad  in  a  cowardly  manner, 
and  now  he  would  have  given  a  year  of  his  life  to  be 
able  to  undo  that  one  mad  act. 

For  some  moments  he  crouched  there  by  the  roadside, 
trembling  violently  as  he  watched  Mr.  Van  Worth  and 
the  detective  running  wildly  about  the  burning  build- 
ing. He  heard  them  calling  again  and  again  to  the 
missing  boy,  but  only  the  thunder  answered  them, 
while  jagged  lightning  blazed  in  mockery  across  the 
storm-clouds  of  the  western  sky. 

At  length  Walter  tried  to  justify  himself  for  his 
cowardly  act  by  saying : 

"He  would  have  done  the  same  to  me.  He  attacked 
me,  and  I  had  to  defend  myself.  I  am  not  to  blame. 
It  will  be  a  good  thing  for  father,  as  I  know  he  feared 
the  boy,  who  held  some  terrible  secret  with  which  he 
meant  to  work  father's  ruin.  No  one  will  ever  know 
the  truth,  for  I  can  tell  any  kind  of  a  story  I  choose." 


1 62         A  Night  of  Desperate  Deeds. 

He  did  not  hear  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  ho  was 
quite  unaware  the  burning  building  plainly  outlined 
his  figure  to  any  one  who  might  be  passing  in  the  road. 
All  at  once,  however,  a  voice  called : 

"Walt,  is  that  you?" 

He  whirled  quickly  to  discover  bis  father  was  near 
at  hand,  seated  in  tbe  carriage. 

With  a  cry  of  joy  Walter  jumped  the  fence  and 
quickly  sprang  into  the  carriage,  whereupon  Stark 
turned  the  team  about  and  drove  from  the  old  road 
house. 

"I  was  looking  for  you,"  declared  the  man.  "I  got 
away  with  the  team  the  minute  after  I  leaped  through 
the  window,  and  I  did  not  think  I  was  leaving  you 
until  I  had  driven  a  short  distance;  then  I  immediately 
turned  about  and  came  back.  What  happened?  How 
did  you  get  away?" 

Walter  decided  to  tell  his  father  exactly  what  had 
taken  place,  and  he  did  so.  Stark  listened  with  in- 
creasing excitement,  and  when  Walter  had  finished, 
the  man  uttered  a  fierce  laugh  of  satisfaction,  saying : 

"This  is  the  best  night's  work  j^ou  ever  did,  my  son; 
but  you  want  to  keep  your  mouth  closed  about  it. 
That  boy  came  East  to  ruin  me,  and  I  believe  he  might 
have  accomplished  his  purpose  with  old  Van  Worth's 
aid.  Now  I  will  no  longer  have  a  fear  of  either.  My 
son,  you  have  earned  all  the  pin  money  you  can  blow 
in  in  the  next  thirty  days." 

The  storm  was  now  coming  up  with  great  rapidity, 
and  Stark  drove  at  a  furious  pace  until  the  feiry  was 
reached,  where  a  man  was  waiting  to  take  charge  of 
the  team. 

It  began  to  be  certain  they  could  not  reach  home  be- 
fore the  storm  broke,  for  the  lightning  was  now  intense, 
and  the  thunder  bellowed  almost  overhead. 


A  Night  of  Desperate  Deeds.  163 

The  Twenty  third  Street  ferry  was  taken,  Stark 
lighting  a  black  cigar  and  his  son  a  cigarette  as  the 
boat  ran  out  from  the  slip.  There  was  a  look  of  evil 
satisfaction  on  the  man's  face  as  he  stood  looking  down 
at  the  swirling  water,  which  was  ever  and  anon  lighted 
by  fierce  flares  of  lightning;  but  the  boy  was  still  Dale. 

Finally  they  turned  to  go  forward.  As  they  did  so, 
an  exclamation  broke  from  the  lips  of  a  man  who  had 
been  leaning  on  the  rail,  and  he  started  away.  A  flash 
of  lightning  showed  Stark  the  man's  face,  and  he 
uttered  something  like  a  scream  of  joy. 

"BuckPrindle!" 

Prindle  it  really  was,  and  he  started  to  run  from 
Cyrus  Stark,  a  look  of  fear  on  his  face. 

"I'll  never  go  back  to  that  place  and  stay  with  the 
rats!"'  he  gasped,  his  nerve  completely  broken  by  what 
he  had  passed  through.  "Don't  you  try  to  touch  me — ■ 
don't  ye  dare!" 

Stark  attempted  to  close  in  with  him,  but  Prindle 
leaped  to  the  rail,  a  crazy  light  in  his  eyes,  as  revealed 
by  the  lightning. 

"Tell  ye  I  won't  go  back!"  he  panted. 

"Where  are  those  certificates?"  demanded  Stark, 
clutching  at  the  desperate  wretch. 

"Find  'em!"  was  the  shrill  and  defiant  answer. 
Then  Buck  Prindle  straightened  up,  placed  his  hands 
together,  and  plunged  headlong  from  the  rail  to  the 
black  water  of  the  swirling  river. 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  terrible  glare  of  light- 
ning, by  which  a  white  face  was  seen  upturned  from 
tho  seething  river,  while  two  hands  battled  helplessly 
with  the  water.  Then,  like  the  bursting  of  a  hundred 
cannon,  came  the  fearful  crash  of  thunder.  The  light- 
ning died,  the  storm  broke  in  all  its  fury,  and  the  white 
face  was  swallowed  up  in  the  blackness  of  the  night. 


164    The  Pangs  of  a  Guilty  Conscience. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
the  pangs  of  a  guilty  conscience. 

"Gone!" 

Stark  gasped  forth  the  word,  as  he  stared  into  the 
darkness,  unmindful  of  the  drenching  rain  that  was 
now  falling  in  torrents. 

Again  the  lightning  blazed,  showing  him  the  broad 
sweep  of  madly  rushing  river,  but  the  white  face  had 
disappeared. 

"Oh,  what  infernal  luck!"  groaned  the  man,  as  he 
leaned  over  the  rail  of  the  boat  and  tried  to  pierce  the 
darkness  and  storm,  still  vainly  hoping  for  one  look  at 
the  face  of  Buck  Prindle — hoping  against  hope  that  the 
man  had  not  gone  down  forever. 

He  felt  a  hand  grasp  his  arm,  and  Walter's  voice 
rang  in  his  ear: 

"Come,  governor,  let's  get  in  out  of  the  rain.  We'll 
be  drenched  to  the  bone  if  we  stay  here." 

"You  saw  him  jump?"  panted  the  man.  "Is  there 
a  chance  for  him  to  escape  being  drowned,  do  you 
think?" 

"Not  one  chance  in  a  million,"  was  the  reply. 
"You'll  never  set  eyes  on  that  man  again." 

"And  he  is  the  only  person  who  can  tell  where  the 
stock  of  the  White  Horse  Mine  is  hidden." 

"He'll  never  tell." 

Stark  was  certainly  hard  hit,  for  he  still  remained 
unmindful  of  the  rain,  hanging  over  the  rail  to  wait 
for  another    flare  of    lightning.     It  came  in  a    few 


The  Pangs  of  a  Guilty  Conscience.     165 

seconds,  but  died  out  in  an  instant,  giving  them  no 
more  than  a  glimpse  of  the  river. 

Then  Walter  forcibly  dragged  his  father  beneath  the 
sheltered  space  allotted  to  teams. 

"What's  the  use  of  being  a  fool,  pop?"  cried  the 
boy.     "He's  gone,  and  gone  for  good." 

"So  is  the  stock  of  the  mine." 

"Can't  you  get  around  that  some  way?" 

"How?" 

"Heep  ought  to  know  a  way." 

The  man  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  relief. 

"You  are  right,  Walt;  that  man  can  do  almost  any- 
thing. He  will  know  a  sure  way  out  of  it.  The  only 
danger  will  be  that  the  original  stock  is  found." 

"But  you  said  Prindle  declared  it  was  put  where  no 
one  but  himself  could  ever  find  it." 

"He  did  say  that,  but  he  may  have  lied." 

"You  will  have  to  take  your  chances.  Perhaps  it 
can  be  fixed  so  this  stolen  stock  will  be  worthless,  any- 
how. I  don't  know  much  about  law,  but  that  seems 
possible.     Heep  will  soon  settle  that  point." 

"And,  if  that  is  right,  this  will  be  a  great  night  for 
me,  as  my  bitter  enemy  and  the  only  man  whom  I 
really  feared  on  earth  have  both  perished." 

He  ended  with  a  coarse  laugh  of  triumph,  his  spirits 
seeming  to  rise  somewhat  by  the  thought. 

The  boy  shuddered,  and  it  was  well  the  darkness  hid 
his  features,  for  otherwise  Cyrus  Stark  would  have  seen 
his  son  was  looking  at  him  with  mingled  repulsion  and 
disgust.  Chip  of  the  old  block  though  he  was,  Walter 
was  not  thoroughly  hardened,  and  the  laugh  of  his 
parent  had  shocked  him  strangely. 

"If  Bart  Stone  were  alive  now,  he  could  prove  noth- 
ing," muttered  Stark,  scarcely  heeding  the  presence  of 
the  lad.     "Prindle  was  the  only  one  who  knew." 


1 66     The  Pangs  of  a  Guilty  Conscience. 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  there  was  anything  to  know, 
do  you,  pop?"  questioned  Walter.  "You  did  not  really 
have  anything  to  do  with  old  Stone's  death?" 

"Of  course  not — no,  of  course  not!"  hastily  assured 
the  other;  but  there  was  something  in  his  manner  that 
plainly  told  he  was  lying,  and  the  youth  drew  back. 

Stark  noted  the  move,  and  he  half  snarled  : 

"You  did  as  much  this  night  when  you  left  the  boy 
to  be  roasted !     That " 

"That  was  something  I  shall  regret  as  long  as  I 
live." 

"Of  course!  of  course!"  nodded  the  man.  "Your 
feelings  are  very  natural — and  very  noble.  Still,  you 
were  not  to  blame.  You  had  to  save  yourself — the  fire 
was  between  you  and  the  other  boy — the  loss  of  a  mo- 
ment might  have  cost  you  your  life " 

"Wish  I  could  think  so,"  muttered  Walt. 

"You  must  think  so!  I  certainly  did  not  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  Prindle's  jumping  into  the  river;  and 
you  had  no  more  to  do  with  the  death  of  that  young 
Western  upstart,  who  came  here  to  ruin  your  father. 
That  is  common  sense." 

"Prindle  was  scared  to  death — or  nearly  that — when 
he  jumped  into  the  river.     He  was  afraid  of  you." 

"Still,  I  shall  hold  myself  in  no  way  responsible  for 
his  death ;  and  I  feel  glad  he  was  fool  enough  to  make 
the  jump.     He  was  nothing  but  a  jail-bird  anyway." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  boat  bumping  into  the 
slip,  and  Stark  took  Walter's  arm,  starting  forward. 
There  were  two  empty  cabs  lingering  near  the  ferry  ' 
house,  and  the  man  engaged  one  of  them  to  take  him 
home. 

A  spirit  of  silence  had  fallen  over  father  and  son, 
and  scarcely  a  word  was  spoken  by  either  on  their  way 
to  Thirty-sixth  Street.     Walt  lay  back  in  a  corner, 


The  Pangs  of  a  Guilty  Conscience.     167 

feeling  horrified  with  himself  and  his  villainous  father, 
but  still  thinking  himself  a  very  unfortunate  boy, 
whom  fate  had  conspired  against. 

Although  he  felt  that  at  last  he  was  free  of  his  re- 
lentless boy  enemy  and  the  only  man  in  the  world  who 
could  lay  bare  the  blackest  page  of  his  crooked  life, 
Cyrus  Stark  was  not  destined  to  sleep  very  well  that 
night.  Until  a  late  hour  he  paced  the  floor  of  his 
room,  and  when  he  finally  flung  himself  on  the  bed, 
without  removing  his  clothes,  it  was  to  toss  and  twist 
for  a  long  time  before  slumber  came  to  his  eyes. 

When  he  did  fall  asleep  it  was  to  dream  the  most 
fear-inspiring  things,  causing  him  to  still  writhe  and 
groan. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  his  punishment  for  the 
sinful  life  he  had  led. 

Walter  looked  but  little  better  than  his  father  when 
they  met  at  breakfast,  and  their  eyes  were  restless  and 
evasive,  as  if  they  shared  a  guilty  secret  and  were 
ashamed  to  look  each  other  in  the  face. 

While  they  ate,  Stark  glanced  over  the  morning 
paper,  as  was  his  custom.  Suddenly  he  started, 
gasped,  turned  pale,  and  upset  the  coffee  in  his  great 
agitation. 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  he  hoarsely  cried.  "It  can't 
be  true!     I  won't  believe  it!" 

"What's  the  racket,  old  boy?"  asked  Walter,  with 
attempted  lightness.     "You  look  hard  hit." 

"Hard  hit?  Why,  Taff,  the  diamond  broker,  has 
failed  1" 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"What  of  it?"  almost  screamed  the  man,  crumpliug 
the  paper  and  dashing  it  to  the  floor.  "Why,  it  was 
not  more  than  ten  days  ago  that  I  indorsed  his  paper 
for  eighty  thousand  dollars !    What  of  it?    I'll  have  to 


1 68    The  Pangs  of  a  Guilty  Conscience. 

make  good  that  sum!  Oh,  everything  has  turned 
against  me  now  I" 

In  truth,  it  seemed  that  there  was  a  remarkable  and 
mysterious  fatality  that  had  hurled  all  these  misfor- 
tunes on  Cyrus  Stark  in  a  bunch,  as  if  to  crush  him 
without  delay. 

Stark  no  longer  had  any  appetite  for  breakfast.  He 
lost  no  time  in  securing  his  hat  and  rushing  from  the 
house. 

At  the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel  he  learned  that  the  rumor 
concerning  Taff  was  true  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt, 
and  then  he  proceeded  down  town  to  consult  with  Heep, 
as  it  would  be  ten  o'clock  by  the  time  he  could  reach 
the  lawyer's  office. 

There  were  two  elevators  running  in  the  building, 
and  something  caused  him  to  watch  for  the  other  car 
as  he  went  up  in  one  of  them.  As  they  passed  about 
halfway  to  the  top,  the  man  started  and  gave  utterance 
to  a  low  cry  of  amazement,  for  he  seemed  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  a  well-known  face  in  the  other  car. 

"It  can't  be  possible!"  he  gasped,  unmindful  of  the 
fact  that  the  elevator  boy  was  staring  at  him  with 
wonder.  "I  must  have  been  deceived  by  a  resem- 
blance." 

When  he  stepped  out  at  the  top  floor,  he  waited  until 
the  other  car  came  up,  and  then  he  eagerly  asked  : 

"Did  you  just  take  down  a  boy  about  seventeen 
years  old?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"Did  you  notice  anything  peculiar  in  his  dress?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Didn't  he  wear  high  boots,  a  woolen  shirt  and 
broad-brimmed  hat?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Are  you  sure?" 


The  Pangs  of  a  Guilty  Conscience.     169 

"Dead  sure." 

"And  he  did  not  appear  like  a  Western  boy?" 

"I  did  not  notice  anything  that  led  me  to  think  so." 

Stark  looked  relieved;  slipping  a  silver  quarter  into 

the  elevator  boy's  hand,  and  then  muttering,   as  he 

turned  away : 

"It  was  all  imagination.     My  nerves  are  in  a  bad 

condition.     There  can  be    no  reason  to  doubt  Walt. 

Bart  Stone  is  dead  and  out  of  my  way  forever. ' ' 


*70  Another  Wagei 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

ANOTHER  WAGER. 

Although  Cyrus  Stark  had  not  see  Bart  Stone  in 
the  elevator,  the  boy  from  the  West  was  not  dead.  He 
had  been  abandoned  to  his  fate  in  the  burning  road 
house,  lying  unconscious  on  the  floor,  with  the  fire 
gathering  about  him  swiftly,  but  he  did  not  perish  in 
the  flames. 

Bart  had  a  pretty  hard  head,  and  he  had  soon  recov- 
ered from  the  stunning  shock  received  when  he  went 
down.  He  opened  his  eyes  to  discover  his  peril,  and 
roll  away  from  the  fire  before  it  fastened  on  his  clothes. 

Then  he  sat  up  and  found  escape  was  cut  off,  so  far  as 
the  back  door  or  broken  window  were  concerned.  The 
heat  of  the  fire  was  intense,  and  the  smoke  threatened 
to  overcome  him. 

He  knew  better  than  to  rise  to  his  feet,  for  the  smoke 
was  so  dense  above  him  he  would  not  be  able  to  catch 
a  breath,  so,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  he  started  to 
creep  toward  the  open  door  that  led  into  the  hallway. 

He  was  able  to  reach  the  door,  and  then  he  rose  to  a 
crouching  position,  hurrying  toward  the  front  of  the 
house.  From  room  to  room  he  made  his  way,  but  all 
the  windows  were  closed  with  heavy  shutters,  and  he 
could  not  waste  time  in  what  might  be  a  fruitless  at- 
tempt to  break  them. 

The  front  door  was  tried,  but  that  was  firm  as  a  rock; 
and  then,  through  choking  smoke,  he  ran  up  the  stairs 
to  the  rooms  above. 


Another  Wager.  171 

At  the  back  of  the  house  he  found  a  window,  from 
which  he  quickly  broke  the  glass,  dashing  out  sash  and 
all  with  one  strong  kick  of  his  booted  foot. 

The  fresh  air  that  poured  in  gave  him  new  life,  and 
with  a  cry  of  relief  and  joy  he  saw  a  slanting  roof  just 
below. 

Already  was  the  fire  roaring  up  the  stairs  of  the 
doomed  building,  which  was  destined  to  become  a 
mass  of  smoldering  ruins  in  a  remarkably  short  space 
of  time. 

Out  through  the  window  Bart  made  his  way,  lightly 
dropping  to  the  roof.  His  feet  flew  from  beneath  him, 
and  before  he  could  grasp  at  anything  secure,  he  slid 
down  the  shingles  and  fell  to  the  ground,  striking  in 
an  upright  position,  quite  unharmed. 

He  was  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  not  a  soul  had 
seen  him  escape,  as  Mr.  Van  Worth  and  the  detective 
were  on  the  side  where  the  window  was  broken,  and 
the  back  of  the  house  could  not  be  seen  at  all  from  the 
road. 

For  this  reason,  Cyrus  Stark  drove  away  thinking 
the  boy  he  hated  had  perished  in  the  flames. 

As  soon  as  he  could  collect  himself,  Bart  went  round 
the  house  to  look  for  Roger  Van  Worth  and  the  detec- 
tive. He  found  them  mourning  him  as  lost,  and  the 
delight  of  Roger  was  something  touchiag  to  witness. 
He  caught  Bart  in  his  arms,  and  his  voice  trembled  as 
he  declared: 

"You  are  like  one  from  the  dead  !  I  could  not  have 
suffered  more  had  you  been  my  own  boy !  But  there 
was  no  way  to  get  in  there  through  the  fire  and  reach 
you.     How  did  you  get  out?" 

Bart  told  him  his  entire  experience,  and  the  man  was 
consumed  with  anger  when  he  heard  how  Walter  Stark 
had  abandoned  the  unconscious  lad  to  his  horrible  fate. 


172  Another  Wager. 

"I  suppose  it  is  all  that  could  be  expected  from  the 
son  of  such  a  father;  but  it  was  a  most  dastardly  trick! 
It  was  scarcely  less  than  murder!" 

Stark  had  escaped  his  pursuers  by  darting  round  the 
house  the  moment  he  sprang  through  the  window,  cut- 
ting the  halter  that  hitched  the  horses,  and  driving 
away.  When  they  returned  to  the  broken  window  it 
was  too  late  to  reach  Bart,  and  it  was  not  known  but 
both  boys  had  perished  in  the  fire. 

There  was  now  no  reason  why  they  should  linger  in 
that  vicinity,  and  it  was  expedient  they  should  get 
away  immediately  if  they  wished  to  escape  question- 
ing, as  the  light  of  the  fire  would  certainly  draw  not  a 
few  people  to  the  locality;  so  they  sought  the  team  at 
once,  and  were  soon  driving  back  toward  Brooklyn, 
which  they  reached  barely  in  time  to  escape  a  drench- 
ing. 

After  waiting  until  the  shower  was  over,  they  pro- 
ceeded to  New  York. 

Mr.  Van  Worth  and  the  detective  held  a  long  con- 
sultation that  night,  and  when  Carrol  left,  it  was  to 
start  after  Buck  Prindle  once  more,  as  everything 
seemed  to  depend  on  finding  that  man. 

"Bart,"  said  Mr.  Van  Worth,  "I  want  you  to  keep 
out  of  sight  for  the  present." 

The  boy  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"Keep  out  of  sight?     What  for?" 

"I  fancy  Cyrus  Stark  and  his  precious  son  think  you 
were  burned  in  the  old  road  house,  and  I  want  them  to 
continue  to  deceive  themselves  in  that  manner." 

"'Cause  why?" 

"I  may  get  another  opportunity  to  spring  a  surprise 
on  them." 

Bart  did  not  object,  for  he  had  a  great  deal  of  confi- 
dence in  the  judgment  of  his  father's  old  schoolmate, 


Another  Wager.  173 

and  so  he  remained  in  the  house  for  the  next  two 
days. 

Although  this  was  something  quite  unusual  for  him, 
the  boy  from  the  West  did  not  find  his  confinement  as 
irksome  and  galling  as  he  had  expected  it  would  be, 
for  he  saw  a  great  deal  of  Ferda,  and  she  did  her  best 
to  make  the  long  hours  pass  pleasantly. 

It  was  on  the  second  night  after  the  fire  that  Roger 
Van  Worth  strolled  into  the  Trojan  Club's  headquarters 
and  found  a  fancy  shooting  exhibition  was  taking 
place.  An  English  expert  was  giving  an  exhibition, 
having  offered  a  standing  challenge  to  any  member  of 
the  club. 

Walter  Stark  was  an  expert  with  either  rifle  or  re- 
volver, and  after  watching  the  boastful  Britisher  for 
some  seconds,  he  accepted  the  challenge. 

As  it  was  to  be  an  exhibition  and  test  of  trick  shoot- 
ing, three  judges  were  chosen. 

Cyrus  Stark  was  on  hand,  and  he  succeeded  in  mak- 
ing several  comfortable  wagers  that  his  son  would  de- 
feat the  Englishman,  whose  name  was  Curran. 

The  exhibition  was  over  in  about  thirty  minutes,  and 
Walter  was  able  to  win  with  apparent  ease,  much  to 
the  chagrin  of  Curran,  and  the  delight  of  Cyrus  Stark, 
who  gathered  in  his  bets  and  flourished  the  money  over 
his  head,  laughing: 

"My  boy  can't  be  beaten  by  any  amateur  in  the 
country!     I've  got  ten  thousand  dollars  that  says  sol" 

Then,  catching  sight  of  Roger,  he  sneeringly  called: 

"Perhaps  you  have  another  Unknown  you  would  like 
to  match  against  him,  Van  Worth?" 

"Perhaps  I  have,"  was  the  quiet  reply.  "If  so,  you 
should  take  warning  by  your  previous  experience." 

The  words  cut  Stark,  and  he  flushed  hotly. 

"You  won  by  a  foul  at  the  race!"  he  growled. 


1 74  Another  Wager. 

"That  is  true,"  confessed  Mr.  Van  Worth,  sweetly. 
"Your  boy  should  have  known  better  than  to  make 
it." 

Stark  was  getting  the  worst  of  this  bandying  of 
words,  and  he  did  not  like  it,  for  he  could  not  fail  to 
see  the  half-concealed  smiles  of  the  listening  club 
members. 

"Look  here,  Van  Worth,"  he  said,  coming  closer  to 
the  qui9t  man,  "if  you're  a  sport " 

"I  am  not,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I  make  no 
claim  to  that." 

"Ha!  ha!"  sneered  Stark.  "Your  blood  is  poor, 
Van  Worth.  You  want  the  game  without  the  name. 
I  will  confess  your  Unknown  did  win  the  sprint  by  an 
accident,  but  I'll  bet  any  sum  you  like  you  can't  bring 
an  amateur  who  can  whip  my  boy  with  either  rifle  or 
revolver." 

"Now  you  are  getting  excited,"  said  Roger,  looking 
the  man  squarely  in  the  eye.  "You  seem  to  be  seek- 
ing revenge." 

Stark  stepped  still  closer,  saying,  in  a  tone  that  was 
only  heard  by  the  other  man : 

"I  am  seeking  revenge !  I  have  not  forgotten  our 
meeting  at  Jarley's!  You  threatened  me  with  a  pistol, 
and  I'll  never  rest  till  I  humble  you  for  that!" 

Then  he  fell  back,  lifting  his  voice  until  all  could 
hear: 

"I'll  bet  you  twenty-five  thousand  dollars  you  can't 
raring  an  amateur  who  can  fairly  beat  my  son  at  fancy 
and  trick  shooting,  Roger  Van  Worth." 

Stark  was  scarcely  prepared  for  what  followed,  as 
the  man  challenged  promptly  returned: 

"I'll  take  that  bet.  Put  up  your  money  in  Gran- 
tham Burke's  hands.  Here  is  mine.  Cover  it — if  you 
dare!" 


Walter  Shows  His  Skill.  175 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

WALTER   SHOWS   HIS   SKILL. 

Stark  was  taken  aback  by  this  instant  acceptance  cf 
his  loudly  offered  wager,  and  he  looked  not  a  little  as- 
tonished, falling  away  a  step  and  staring  hard  at  the 
man,  who  was  coolly  counting  out  his  money. 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  he  finally  asked. 

Roger  placed  the  money  in  Burke's  hands,  replying: 

"This  talks." 

"What  kind  of  a  game  are  you  running  now?'* 
harshly  demanded  Stark,  as  he  nervously  fingered  the 
bills  in  his  hands. 

"Sir!" 

Roger  uttered  the  word  in  a  most  crushing  manner, 
a  cynical  and  haughty  smile  curling  his  lips.  It  was 
enough  to  bring  the  hot  blood  to  Stark's  face,  but  he 
tossed  his  head  with  a  nervous  laugh. 

"Oh,  I'm  on  to  you,"  he  assured,  with  insolent  in- 
sinuation.    "You  are  out  to  win  every  time." 
!     Roger  took  one  long  step  and  advanced  within  reach 
of  the  speaker,  saying,  icily : 

"I  would  like  to  have  you  make  your  meaning  a  little 
plainer,  Mr.  Stark.  Come  right  out  and  say  what  you 
mean,  or  else  be  good  enough  to  make  no  hints." 

For  a  moment  it  seemed  that  Stark  would  give  vent 
to  his  wrought  up  passsions,  but  he  restrained  himself, 
observing : 

"You  are  very  touchy,  Van  Worth.  Are  you  in 
earnest  about  this  wager?" 


176  Walter  Shows  His  Skill. 

"You  asked  me  that  once  before.  Would  I  put  up 
the  cold  cash  if  I  were  riot  in  earnest?  Cover  my 
money — or  take  water." 

"When  is  the  match  to  come  off?" 

"Anytime  you  like." 

"Then  I  set  it  for  to-night  within  the  next  hour,"  in- 
stantly returned  Stark,  as  be  placed  bis  money  in 
Burke's  hands.     "Do  you  come  to  time  on  that?" 

"Most  certainly.  I'll  have  my  man  on  hand  in  less 
than  thirty  minutes." 

Stark  was  astonished  at  this,  but  he  did  bis  best  to 
appear  unconcerned;  while  Mr.  Van  Worth  hastily 
scribbled  something  on  a  sheet  of  paper  torn  from  his 
notebook,  sealed  it  in  one  of  the  club's  envelopes,  and 
called  up  a  messenger. 

When  the  messenger  had  been  dispatched,  Roger  em- 
ployed his  time  in  calmly  chatting  with  several  mem- 
bers of  the  club. 

Stark  was  talking  earnestly  with  his  son  and  Ned 
Steinway,  who  was  on  hand,  and  the  man  plainly  tried 
to  repress  the  excitement  be  felt.  Steinway  assured 
him  again  and  again  that  his  time  had  come  to  par- 
tially square  accounts  with  Roger  Van  Worth,  but  he 
was  beginning  to  grow  doubtful,  the  memory  of  his 
former  defeats  rising  vividly  before  him. 

Who  did  Van  Worth  intend  to  produce?  He  had 
made  no  particular  stir  about  the  old  road -house  affair, 
although  both  Cyrus  and  his  guilty  son  had  expected 
trouble.  They  could  not  understand  why  he  had  not 
brought  a  charge  of  some  kind  against  them,  for  it 
could  not  be  he  intended  to  overlook  the  fact  that  the 
boy  whom  he  had  befriended  lost  his  life  in  the  fire. 

Stark  remembered  the  face  he  had  fancied  he  saw  in 
the  elevator,  and  a  sudden  suspicion  assailed  him.  As 
soon  as  possible  he  drew  Walter  aside,  asking: 


Walter  Shows  His  Skill.  177 

"Are  you  sure  that  infernal  boy  was  cooked  in  that 
fire?" 

"Sure  as  I  am  that  I  live  at  this  moment,  gov." 

"Then  I  cannot  understand  Van  Worth.  I  declare  I 
half-believe  you're  mistaken,  and  he  means  to  produce 
the  young  w-help  to  shoot  against  you!" 

"Oh,  you're  loony!" 

"Then  who  can  he  bring  forward?" 

"Oh,  he's  got  some  fellow  on  the  string,  and  he 
thinks  he  can  beat  you  at  everything,  simply  because 
he  did  so  on  the  sprint.  I'll  open  the  old  fool's  eyes! 
My  nerve  is  as  steady  as  a  rock,  and  I  can  outshoot  Dr. 
Carver  to-night." 

"I  hope  you  are  right.  I  can't  afford  to  lose  an- 
other dollar.  No  more  than  twenty-five  thousand  will 
put  me  in  hard  sledding  if  it  slips  through  my  fingers." 

"It  won't  slip.  But  if  you  did  lose  it,  you  have  the 
mine  to  fall  back  on,  and  you  know  the  expert  has 
made  a  favorable  report." 

"Favorable?  I  should  say  so!  Why,  he  says  the 
blast  that  boy  put  in  has  opened  up  a  vein  of  amazing 
richness;  but  I  shall  not  feel  right  about  that  matter 
until  the  lost  certificates  are  recovered.  They  might 
pop  up  any  time." 

"I  don't  think.  You're  a  fool  to  worry  about  that." 
Then  this  highly  respectful  son  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
strolled  into  the  smoking  room  with  Steinway. 

Before  thirty  minutes  had  elapsed  after  the  departure 
of  the  messenger,  word  was  brought  Roger  Van  Worth 
that  his  man  awaited  him  in  the  parlor.  He  disap- 
peared at  the  heels  of  the  person  who  had  brought  this 
information,  and  every  one  waited  anxiously  the  usher- 
ing in  of  the  mysterious  marksman  who  had  been 
matched  to  shoot  against  the  club  champion  for  the 
sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars. 


178  Walter  Shows  His  Skill. 

The  old  sports  of  the  club  were  astounded  at  Roger, 
for  he  had  suddenly  shown  an  inclination  to  sportive- 
ness  that  had  always  seemed  quite  foreign  to  his  nature. 
Never  until  he  matched  the  Unknown  to  run  against 
Walter  Stark  had  he  wagered  sums  of  any  sort  on  con- 
tests of  skill  or  endurance,  although  he  had  ever  stood 
ready  to  subscribe  liberally  for  the  support  of  any  ex- 
hibition the  club  might  see  fit  to  give.  ? 

A  few   wagers  were  made  on  the  outcome    of  the  f 
shoot,  but  the  most  of  the  sports  preferred  to  wait  and 
see  the  man  Van  Worth  backed   before    staking  any 
cash. 

"Here  they  come!" 

Somebody  uttered  the  words  as  Van  Worth  was  seen 
advancing  arm  in  arm  with  a  compactly  built,  boyish 
person. 

An  electric  shock  ran  over  Cyrus  Stark  the  moment 
his  ej'es  fell  on  that  form,  while  Walter  was  literally 
struck  dumb  with  astonishment,  turning  very  pale  as 
he  gasped : 

"It  can't  be  possible!" 

But  it  was  possible.  The  person  Roger  had  backed 
against  the  younger  Stark  was  the  boy  from  the  West, 
alive  and  well  as  ever. 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Van  Worth  quietly,  "this  is 
my  man,  and  you  will  find  he  can  shoot  as  well  as  run. 
This  is  Mr.  Stone,  who  won  the  sprint  for  me." 

"It's  the  chap  who  roped  the  panther!"  cried  one  of 
the  spectators.  "He's  a  holy  terror,  and  I  think  he 
will  give  Walt  all  he  wants  to  do  in  this  match." 

The  Kansas  lad  was  received  enthusiastically,  a  large 
number  of  the  club  members  crowding  about  to  shake 
his  hand. 

When  he  found  an  opportunity,  he  turned  to  Roger 
to  ask: 


Walter  Shows  His  Skill.  179 

"What  is  all  this  about,  I'd  like  to  know  right  well? 
You  said  you  wanted  me  at  once,  and  I  came  hot  foot." 

"I  believe  jTou  said  you  could  shoot?" 

"Wa-al,  I  can — some." 

"I  have  matched  you  against  Mr.  Walter  Stark  for 
the  sum  of  twenty-five  thousand  dollars." 

Bart  whistled. 

"Never  did  any  shooting  for  big  money  like  that, " 
he  confessed,  looking  slightly  alarmed.  "How'd  you 
dare  back  me  for  that  thar  pile?" 

A  quiet  smile  crossed  Roger's  face,  and  he  answered, 
in  an  aside  that  was  heard  by  no  one  except  Bart : 

"Stark  attempted  to  bluff  me,  and  I  wouldn't  have 
it.  I  thought  the  sight  cf  you  might  shake  Walt's 
nerve  so  you  would  beat  him;  but  it  won't  make  much 
difference  if  you  lose,  as  I  have  not  yet  cashed  Stark's 
draft,  and  I  don't  want  it  said  I  did  not  give  him  a 
show.     All  I  ask  is  that  you  do  your  best." 

"Wa-al,  I'll  do  that,  you  bet." 

Cyrus  Stark  did  not  immediately  recover  from  the 
shock  of  seeing  the  supposed-to-be-dead  boy  alive. 

"Will  nothing  kill  him?"  he  grated.  "You  must 
beat  him,  Walt!" 

The  younger  rascal  had  been  no  less  astonished  than 
his  father,  but  he  replied  : 

"I'll  do  it,  pop;  depend  on  me.  I'll  give  him  the 
worst  job  he  ever  ran  up  against!" 

In  the  course  of  another  thirty  minutes  all  arrange- 
ments were  made  for  the  match.  It  was  decided  the 
start  should  be  plain  shooting  at  a  bell  target,  to  see 
which  of  the  lads  could  make  the  most  out  of  a  possible 
seventy-five.  A  coin  was  flipped  to  decide  who  should 
lead  off,  and  it  fell  to  Walter. 

Young  Stark  was  perfectly  cool  as  he  took  his  place 
at  the  rail,  a  quiet  smile  on  his  face.     He  began  shoot- 


180  Walter  Shows  His  Skill. 

ing  deliberately,  and  for  fifty-eight  times  in  succession 
he  rang  the  bell.     Then  he  missed  once. 

"Good  boy!"  laughed  Ned  Steinway.  "You  have 
already  made  a  score  the  cow-puncher  can't  tie." 

Neither  Bart  nor  Mr.  Van  Worth  noticed  this  re- 
mark, although  it  was  spoken  for  their  ears. 

Walter  waited  a  few  seconds,  and  then  quietly  re- 
sumed the  shootirjg.  Ring,  ring,  ring,  steadily  went 
the  target  bell  up  to  the  seventy -fourth  shot. 

It  was  amazing  marksmanship,  as  all  who  witnessed 
it  were  obliged  to  confess.  Roger  Van  Worth  looked 
very  grave,  for  he  had  scarcely  expected  such  a  display 
of  skill.  Stark  said  very  little,  but  there  was  a 
look  of  triumph  on  his  face  that  told  of  the  satisfac- 
tion in  his  heart. 

At  the  seventy-fifth  shot  the  target  bell  failed  to  ring, 
but  Walter  had  made  the  amazing  record  of  seventy- 
three  out  of  a  possible  seventy-five,  and  he  retired  amid 
the  applause  of  the  spectators,  a  confident  smile  on  his 
face. 

Then  there  were  a  great  number  of  offers  that  the 
score  would  not  be  beaten  or  tied  by  the  boy  from  the 
West,  but  no  one  seemed  anxious  to  take  them. 

As  Bart  arose,  Cyrus  Stark  laughed  in  a  sneering 
way,  observing: 

"I  believe  the  fellow  is  really  going  to  try  it!  Ten 
chances  to  one  he  does  not  make  fifty  bull's-eyes." 

The  Kansas  lad  advanced  to  the  rail,  with  Roger's 
whispered  words  sounding  in  his  ears: 

"Do  your  level  best." 

He  picked  up  a  rifle,  looked  it  over  carefully,  ex- 
amined the  sights,  then  suddenly  flung  it  to  his  shoul- 
der and  fired. 

The  bell  did  not  ring! 

He  had  missed  the  first  shot' 


Wonderful  Marksmanship.  181 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
wonderful  marksmanship. 

"Missed!" 

A  dozen  persons  uttered  the  word  in  disappointment, 
for  while  they  scarcely  expected  Bart  to  match  Walter 
Stark's  wonderful  record,  they  had  hoped  the  Kansas 
lad  would  press  him  close  enough  to  make  it  interest- 
ing. 

Ned  Steinway  laughed  aloud,  but  he  made  no  obser- 
vation, as  that  was  against  the  rules  after  the  stranger 
boy  began. 

As  for  Bart,  he  did  not  seem  in  the  least  taken  aback, 
and  something  like  a  scornful  smile  flitted  like  a  flash 
across  his  face,  leaving  his  features  as  stolid  and  un- 
readable as  ever. 

It  would  not  be  true  to  say  Roger  "Van  Worth  did 
not  feel  disappointed,  for  he  had  hoped  the  Western 
lad  would  make  a  good  showing,  whether  he  defeated 
Walter  Stark  or  not. 

Cyrus  Stark  was  chuckling  with  satisfaction,  feeling 
sure  the  wagered  money  was  as  good  as  won,  for  if 
Bart  Stone  could  do  no  better  than  this  at  plain  shoot- 
ing he  would  surely  make  a  spectacle  of  himself  when 
it  came  to  fancy  work. 

Bart  picked  up  the  next  rifle,  weighed  it  in  his  hands, 
cocked  it  carelessly,  and  apparently  discharged  it  quite 
as  carelessly — without  lifting  it  to  his  shoulder. 

Ting!  sounded  the  bell,  to  the  apparent  astonishment 
of  every  one,  Bart  included. 


1 82  Wonderful  Marksmanship. 

"Rung  her  by  accident,  by  Jupiter!"  cried  Ned 
Steinway,  following  the  words  with  another  laugh. 

The  Kansas  lad  stared  at  the  target  a  moment,  as  if 
he  did  not  quite  comprehend  what  had  happened,  and 
then  he  took  the  next  rifle  offered  him  by  the  attendant 
who  was  loading. 

The  spectators  saw  him  carefully  scrutinize  the 
weapon,  lift  it  to  his  shoulder  and  take  deliberate  aim, 
then  lower  it,  shaking  his  head. 

"I  don't  reckon  I'll  use  that  thar  thing,"  he  said. 
"The  first  two  suit  me  better.  Just  stand  this  one  out 
of  the  way,  so  she'll  not  get  mixed  up  with  the  others." 

This  caused  more  than  one  to  smile,  but  the  cowboy 
was  utterly  unconscious  of  their  ridicule.  He  had 
chosen  the  first  two  rifles  for  use,  and  would  accept  no 
others. 

Although  he  was  exasperatingly  slow  in  his  move- 
ments, it  seemed  that  he  fired  each  time  without  taking 
aim,  for  the  muzzle  of  a  rifle  would  barely  reach  a  level 
with  the  target  when  the  weapon  spoke. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five  times  he  fired,  and  the 
bell  rang  with  each  shot  that  followed  the  first  one. 

The  smiles  slowly  faded  from  the  faces  of  the  specta- 
tors, and  they  began  to  look  interested.  The  boy  from 
the  West  could  shoot  a  little,  anyway,  and  that  was  all 
he  had  claimed. 

"He'll  miss  in  a  minute,"  whispered  Steinway  in 
Walter  Stark's  ear. 

Six,  seven,  eight,  nine,  ten — and  still  the  bell  rang 
with  each  shot. 

Cyrus  Stark  cleared  his  throat  with  a  rasping  sound, 
his  eyes — which  were  anything  but  pleasant  features  of 
his  face — beginning  to  snap. 

"I  am  glad  he  can  shoot  some,"  he  muttered  to  a 
companion,  speaking  the  words  just  loud  enough  for 


Wonderful  Marksmanship.  183 

Roger  Van  Worth  to  hear.     "His  backer  will  feel  bad 
enough  to  lose  the  twenty-five  thousand,  anyway." 

A  sudden  change  seemed  to  come  over  Van  Worth, 
as  if  a  new  confidence  was  born  in  his  heart.  He 
turned  squarely  on  Stark,  and,  in  a  tone  that  was  loud 
enough  for  all  to  hear,  said : 

"I  will  go  37ou  another  twenty-five  thousand  dollars 
my  man  beats  or  ties  your  boy  on  this  first  trial.     Do  4 
you  take  me?"  ^ 

Stark  had  scarcely  expected  this,  and  he  was  quite 
confused.     Then  he  pretended  to  grow  indignant. 

"You  seem  to  have  developed  into  a  full-fledged 
gambler  all  at  once,  Van  Worth.  I  believe  the  Trojan 
Club  bars  professional  gamblers.  There  is  a  difference 
between  innocent  sport  and  bare  faced  gambling." 

Instead  of  arousing  the  man's  anger,  Stark  caused 
him  to  simply  smile. 

"Those  words  sound  well  from  the  lips  of  a  man  who 
lost  thirty  thousand  dollars  in  bets  not  many  days  ago," 
he  returned. 

Stark  was  on  his  feet  instantly,  almost  foaming  at 
the  mouth,  as  he  shouted  : 

"You  are  no  gentleman,  or  you  would  not  mention 
that!  I  believe  you  are  determined  on  a  quarrel.  If 
so,  you  shall  have  it !  I  am  not  a  common  tough,  and 
so  my  weapons  may  not  suit  you.  Any  time  you  wish 
to  meet  me  with " 

At  this  point  he  was  choked  off  by  several  of  his 
friends,  who  saw  the  affair  was  really  becoming  seri- 
ous, and  might  end  in  bloodshed  if  Stark's  passionate 
tongue  were  not  silenced  immediately. 

Roger  paled  a  trifle,  and  his  face  grew  very  stern, 
but  it  was  not  necessary  for  the  cautioning  words  of 
friends  to  hold  him  in  check,  as  he  had  no  idea  of  forc- 
ing a  quarrel  then  and  there. 


184  Wonderful  Marksmanship. 

No  further  words  passed  between  the  men,  who  were 
now  known  to  be  open  enemies;  and  the  attention  of 
the  spectators  was  once  more  given  solely  to  the 
target  shooting. 

The  Kansas  boy  steadily  added  to  the  score,  never 
missing  once  after  that  first  shot.  The  excitement  in- 
creased, and  by  the  time  he  had  made  fifty  straight 
there  were  a  score  of  persons  willing  to  bet  he  would 
tie  Walter,  and  there  were  no  takers  of  the  offers. 

Stark's  face  was  ashen  in  color  as  he  watched  the 
progress  of  the  match.  Was  it  possible  this  raw  West- 
ern lad  was  destined  to  again  defeat  his  son?  He 
actually  began  to  fear  such  was  the  case. 

Ned  Steinway  lost  his  head  and  made  offensive  re- 
marks, hoping  to  "rattle"  Bart  in  that  manner,  and  he 
was  only  silenced  by  the  threat  of  expulsion  from  the 
room. 

Sixty  shots  were  fired,  and  still  Bart  had  missed  but 
once.  If  he  could  make  fifteen  more  without  a  break, 
he  would  fairly  defeat  Walter  on  the  first  trial. 

"He'll  never  do  it!" 

"He  is  losing  his  nerve." 

"Wait  and  see  him  miss  in  a  minute." 

These  remarks  were  made  with  apparent  caution,  but 
they  were  intended  for  Bart's  ears.  If  he  heard,  how- 
ever, he  made  no  sign,  keeping  steadily  at  his  work. 

And  he  was  making  no  more  misses. 

In  a  short  time  the  score  reached  seventy,  and  there 
was  but  one  miss  against  the  Kansas  kid.  The  members 
of  the  club  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement,  for  it 
scarcely  seemed  possible  an  amateur  outside  of  their 
own  ranks  could  be  making  such  a  score. 

Seventy-one — two — three;  the  bell  rang  each  time. 
Only  one  miss!     Another  shot  would  tie  Walter! 

The  excitement  was  at  fever  heat  as  Bart  took  an- 


Wonderful  Marksmanship.  185 

other  rifle,  turned  his  back  to  the  target,  stooped  sud- 
denly and  fired  between  his  legs. 

Ting! 

Walter  was  tied ! 

The  spectators  could  not  repress  a  cheer,  for,  although 
one  of  their  associates  had  been  equaled  in  skill,  they 
were  honest  in  their  admiration. 

A  more  thoroughly  desperate  man  than  Cyrus  Stark 
it  would  have  been  impossible  to  find  in  all  New  York, 
for  he  was  now  certain  the  hand  of  fate  was  literally 
set  against  him. 

Only  one  more  shot!     If  the  bell  was  rung  with 
that,  Walter  would  be  defeated. 

Again  taking  a  loaded  rifle,  Bart  stood  with  his  back 
to  the  target,  and  when  he  was  ready,  spun  round  on 
one  foot,  like  a  top.  At  the  instant  of  the  second  revolu- 
tion he  fired. 

The  bell  rang,  causing  a  great  shout  to  go  up  from 
all  who  heard  it,  excepting  the  young  marksman  him- 
self and  the  two  Starks. 

Walter  was  beaten. 

Seventy-four  out  of  a  possible  seventy-five  was  some- 
thing amazing,  as  every  one  confessed. 

But  the  contest  was  not  finished,  for  the  trick  shoot- 
ing was  to  follow.  Walter,  however,  had  no  taste  for 
further  effort,  although  he  did  not  refuse  to  do  what  he 
could.  His  nerve  was  broken  by  the  first  defeat,  and 
he  failed  on  many  simple  tricks  which  he  usually  ac- 
complished with  ease. 

On  the  other  hand,  Bart  was  cool  and  confident,  and 
he  did  some  things,  like  cutting  hairs  and  splitting  bul- 
lets on  a  knife,  that  further  increased  the  admiration  of 
the  crowd.  His  final  trick  was  to  stand  on  his  head 
with  his  feet  against  a  wall  and  shoot  through  a  tiny 
paper  covered  ring  held  in  Roger  Van  Worth's  fingers. 


1 86  Wonderful  Marksmanship. 

The  bullet,  it  was  afterward  found,  would  just  pass 
comfortably  through  the  ring  without  grazing. 

Bart  was  declared  the  winner  by  the  committee,  and 
Grantham  Burke  delivered  the  amount  of  the  wager  to 
Roger  Van  Worth,  who  then  sought  to  hunt  up  Cyrus 
Stark,  only  to  find  he  had  left  the  club,  together  with 
his  defeated  and  crestfallen  son. 


The  Favor  of  Fate.  187 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

THE  FAVOR   OF  FATE. 

Again  the  boy  from  the  West  had  become  the  hero 
of  the  hour.  Every  one  seemed  to  desire  an  introduc- 
tion to  him,  and  his  arm  would  have  ached  before  he 
got  through  shaking  hands  if  it  had  been  made  of 
ordinary  stuff. 

"Where  did  you  ever  run  across  him,  Van  Worth?" 
questioned  one  curious  individual.  "Was  that  panther 
racket  gotten  up  as  an  advertising  scheme?" 

"Well,  hardiy,"  was  the  smiling  reply.  "There 
was  no  fake  about  that." 

"Van  Worth  is  a  sly  dog,"  asserted  another.  "Here 
he  has  been  lying  cold  and  quiet  all  these  years,  and 
we  didn't  suppose  he  was  at  all  sporty.  All  the  time, 
he  was  waiting  his  opportunity  to  catch  us  on  just  such 
a  snap  as  this." 

"You  will  observe  I  'caught'  no  one  but  Mr.  Cyrus 
Stark,"  said  Roger,  with  sudden  graveness.  "I  might 
have  secured  wagers  with  a  dozen  of  you,  but  I  did 
not." 

They  could  not  fail  to  understand  him,  for  his  real 
raeamng  was  expressed  by  his  manner  as  well  as  his 
words.  Cyrus  Stark  was  the  game  he  had  chosen,  and 
he  cared  for  no  other  man's  money. 

The  club  members  tried  to  drag  Mr.  Van  Worth  and 
Bart  to  the  cafe,  all  of  them  eager  to  open  wine,  but 
Roger  knew  the  boy  would  not  touch  a  drop,  and  so  he 
quietly  and  firmly  declined  all  invitations. 


1 88  The  Favor  of  Fate. 

As  soon  as  possible,  the  young  marksman  and  hig 
friend  left  the  clubhouse,  Grantham  Burke  having  de- 
livered the  amount  of  the  wager  to  Roger. 

It  was  a  pleasant  night,  and  they  walked  along  the 
street  together,  Roger  taking  the  boy's  arm,  as  he 
observed : 

"Well,  Bart,  we  struck  your  enemy  another  blow 
to-night,  and  it  seemed  to  hit  him  harder  than  any  be- 
fore delivered." 

"I  reckon  that's  right,  Mr.  Van  Worth;  but  while 
we  are  pulling  that  thar  critter  down,  we  don't  seem  to 
be  getting  any  nearer  the  recovery  of  the  mine." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that.  He  will  become 
desperate  pretty  soon,  and  then  I  have  a  scheme  for 
bringing  him  to  terms." 

"Wa-al,  I  hope  it  will  succeed;  but  above  all  else  I 
want  to  solve  the  mystery  of  my  father's  death." 

"I  believe  we  will  finally  succeed  in  that.  When 
we  have  found  Prindle  and  recovered  the  stock,  if  for- 
tune favors  us  to  that  extent,  I  will  see  what  Carrol 
can  do  at  this  other  matter.  Perhaps  he  will  be  able 
to  ferret  out  the  truth  in  a  short  time." 

"You  an't  heard  anything  from  Carrol  to-day?" 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"What?" 

"He  says  Prindle  is  in  this  city." 

"How  does  he  know  that?" 

"He  did  not  explain." 

At  that  point  the  street  was  poorly  lighted  and  de- 
serted, and  three  figures  suddenly  appeared  before 
them,  springing  out  from  a  dark  areaway.  Bart  was 
the  first  to  see  them  and  realize  there  was  danger,  so 
he  cried : 

"Look  out  thar!     Them  galoots  mean  crooked  work!" 

The  warning  came  none,  too  soon,  for,  realizing  their 


The  Favor  of  Fate.  189 

evil  purpose  was  suspected,  one  of  the  three  men 
snarled : 

"Down  'em  lively!     Don't  let  'em  raise  a  row!" 

But  the  ruffians  were  astounded  by  a  sudden  onset 
from  the  boy,  who  did  not  hesitate  to  leap  at  them  like 
a  tiger,  upsetting  one  fellow  before  he  could  strike  a 
blow. 

Although  this  move  on  Bart's  part  had  been  quite 
unexpected,  the  other  two  sprang  to  the  assault,  one  of 
them  grating : 

"Pound  the  faces  off  them!  That's  all  we  have  ter 
do!     Knock  'em  out!" 

A  second  man  made  a  pass  at  the  Kansas  lad,  who 
ducked  and  slipped  under  the  fellow's  arm,  grasping 
him  about  the  waist. 

Roger  Van  Worth  was  no  fighter,  but  he  saw  it  was 
necessary  to  do  his  best  m  this  case,  and  he  met  the 
onset  of  the  third  man  squarely,  receiving  a  staggering 
blow  and  delivering  one  in  return. 

In  less  time  than  it  takes  to  tell  it  a  fierce  fight  was 
taking  place  there  in  the  "street,  with  the  odds  against 
Van  Worth  and  Bart.  However,  the  man  and  boy 
were  not  easily  overcome,  as  the  ruffians  soon  discov- 
ered. 

The  young  cowboy  possessed  amazing  strength  for 
his  years,  and  he  finally  succeeded  in  throwing  the  man 
with  whom  he  had  grappled. 

But  that  did  not  end  the  battle,  for  the  first  man 
was  on  his  feet,  and  Van  Worth  had  bean  knocked 
down. 

At  this  juncture  another  individual  appeared  on  the 
scene  and  pitched  into  the  thugs  like  a  whirlwind,  turn- 
ing the  tide  of  battle  almost  instantly,  for  a  signal  cry 
sounded  from  one  of  the  assailants,  and  the  three  im- 
mediately took  to  their  heels. 


190  The  Favor  of  Fate. 

Bart  hurried  to  Mr.  Van  Worth's  assistance,  anxi- 
iously  asking: 

"Are  you  harmed?    Hav9  they  injured  you?" 

"Not  seriously,  I  think,"  was  the  reply,  as  the  man 
allowed  the  boy  to  aid  him  in  arising.  "I  was  struck 
a  glancing  blow  by  some  heavy  instrument,  but  I  think 
I  am  all  right." 

"Wa-al,  that's  right  lucky!"  said  Bart,  with  relief. 
"I  reckoned  it  might  be  worse  when  I  saw  you  go 
over.     Them  p'ison  varmints  were  out  for  blood." 

"And  they  would  have  got  it  if —  Hey,  stop 
him!" 

The  unknown  who  had  befriended  them  was  slipping 
away,  but,  at  the  cry,  the  boy  darted  forward  and 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Hold  on!"  he  cried.  "We  want  to  know  who  did 
us  that  good  turn,  for  we'd  got  it  bad  if  you  hadn't 
chipped  in.  You  scared  them —  Great  Scott!  It 
can't  be!    It  is — Buck  Prindle!" 

"That's  right,"  confessed  the  man  who  had  bo- 
friended  them,  finding  he  could  not  get  away.  "I 
heard  old  Stark  when  he  hired  them  blokes  to  do 
ye " 

"When  he  hired  them?  Do  you  mean  to  say  Cyrus 
Stark  did  that  thar  dirty  trick?" 

"That's  what  I  mean.  He  paid  them  five  apiece  to 
lay  for  you  two  here  and  pound  the  faces  off  ye  when 
ye  came  along.  I  was  in  Murphy's  saloon  an'  heard  it 
all,  though  I  didn't  let  'em  spot  me,  you  bet." 

"Wa-al,  this  is  the  dirtiest  trick  yet,  by  a  good  heap! 
But  he  did  us  a  mighty  big  favor,  just  the  same,  for  ho 
helped  us  find  you." 

"That  is  true,"  put  in  Roger  Van  Worth;  "and  if 
you  are  Buck  Prindle,  we're  looking  for  you." 

The  ex-convict  looked  alarmed,  seeming  on  the  point 


The  Favor  of  Fate.  191 

of  breaking  away  and  taking  to  flight;  seeing  which, 
Mr.  Van  Worth  hastened  to  reassure  him  by  adding : 

"We  do  not  propose  to  do  you  any  injury,  man;  and 
you  can  do  us  a  big  favor.  You  have  already  done  us 
a  great  favor,  for  you  saved  us  from  those  ruffians.  I 
have  a  fancy  you  do  not  love  Cyrus  Stark  much?" 

"Love  him!"  grated  Prindle,  in  sudden  passion.     "I 
hate  him !     I  will  get  square  with  him  some  time!     He  } 
shut  me  up  in  that  old  cellar  with  the  rats,  and  near 
starved  me  to  death!     Oh,  I'll  even  up,  or  my  name 
an't  Buck  Prindle!" 

"You're  the  very  man  we  want  to  assist  us.  We 
will  see  you  are  well  rewarded." 

"All  the  reward  I  want  is  ter  square  accounts. 
Stark  thinks  I  am  dead,  and  I'm  waitin'  the  right  time 
to  show  him  his  mistake." 

"Thiuks  you  are  dead?"  exclaimed  both  Roger  and 
Bart  in  astonishment. 

"That's  what  he  does.  The  very  night  I  got  out  of 
the  old  cellar,  he  cornered  me  on  the  Twenty-third 
Street  ferry,  and  I  jumped  into  the  river.  I'd  been 
drowned,  but  I  caught  on  a  floatin'  hen-coop  that  had 
been  dumped  from  some  vessel  up  the  river,  and  I  hung 
to  it  till  I  was  pulled  off  by  a  tug." 

Mr.  Van  Worth  was  delighted. 

"This  is  great  fortune!"  he  cried.  "If  Cyrus  Stark 
thinks  this  man  is  dead  we  will  be  able  to  spring  a  sur- 
prise on  him  that  will  take  away  his  breath.  Every- 
thing is  coming  our  way  now,  Bart,  my  boy!" 

It  really  seemed  as  if  this  were  true,  and  Bart's  heart 
was  filled  with  hope.  At  last  the  man  who  could  re- 
veal the  secret  of  his  father's  death  was  found,  and 
could  he  be  induced  to  tell  the  truth,  it  would  not  be 
difficult  to  confront  Cyrus  Stark  with  an  array  of  evi- 
dence that  would  utterly  confound  him. 


192  The  Favor  of  Fate. 

"Will  you  stand  by  us,  Mr.  Prindle?"  he  eagerly 
asked.  "Will  you  help  us  in  this  yere  matter  if  we'll 
protect  you  from  Stark?" 

"That's  what  I  will,  kid,"  nodded  the  ex-convict. 


Shattered  Hopes.  193 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

SHATTERED    HOPES. 

The  three  now  walked  from  the  lonely  street  toward 
a  better-lighted  thoroughfare,  Prindle  explaining  how 
he  had  lured  Bob,  the  guard,  into  the  cellar  storeroom, 
and  then,  as  the  fellow  was  half- drunk,  easily  knocked 
him  over  and  escaped. 

The  outwitted  guard  had  not  dared  remain  and  face 
Stark's  anger  when  the  chief  rascal  appeared,  for  which 
reason  the  old  road  house  had  been  deserted. 

Roger  soon  hailed  a  passing  cab,  which  proved  to  be 
empty,  and  they  were  soon  on  their  way  toward  the 
gentleman's  home. 

Prindle  was  uneasy,  despite  the  repeated  assurances 
that  he  had  no  cause  for  alarm. 

"How  about  the  swipin'  of  that  stock?"  he  finally 
asked. 

"We  will  talk  about  that  after  we  get  into  the 
house,"  said  Mr.  Van  Worth. 

A  short  time  after  this  they  were  in  the  library  of 
the  millionaire's  beautiful  home  on  Madison  Avenue. 
Back  looked  with  something  of  admiration  at  his  splen- 
did surroundings,  and  a  strange  smile  crossed  his  face 
as  he  observed : 

"Once  I  thought  I'd  make  crackin'  cribs  of  this  sort  a 
perfession,  but  it  don't  pay.  A  bloke  is  bound  to  get 
pinched  and  sent  up  sooner  or  later." 

"That  is  right,"  nodded  Roger.  " The  only  life  to 
live  is  a  square  one." 


194  Shattered  Hopes. 

"Do  you  think  there's  a  show  for  a  poor  chap  like 
me?" 

"A  show?" 

"Yes — a  chance  for  him  to  do  the  square — to  live 
honest?" 

"Why  not?" 

"Well,  you  see  I'm  known  as  crooked,  and  it's  hard 
for  a  man  to  get  honest  work.  People  don't  want 
crooks  around  if  they  know  it." 

"Are  you  in  earnest  about  wanting  to  live  like  an 
honest  man?" 

"I  swear  I  be!" 

"Then,  when  I  am  satisfied  you  mean  it,  I  will  see 
you  have  all  the  work  you  need." 

Prindle  looked  at  Roger  Van  Worth  in  doubt,  shak- 
ing his  head,  after  a  time,  as  he  said : 

"It  can't  be  you  mean  that." 

"But  Ida" 

"How  can  I  prove  I  am  in  earnest?" 

Mr.  Van  Worth  smiled. 

"Now  you  are  getting  right  down  to  business,  my 
man.  I  want  you  to  convince  me  beyond  the  shadow 
of  a  doubt  that  you  really  want  to  lead  an  honest  life, 
and  then  I  will  give  you  all  the  opportunity  you  desire." 

"Still,  ye  have  not  told  me  how  I  can  convince  ye." 

"What  is  the  first  thing  you  would  be  liable  to  do  if 
3Tou  were  really  in  earnest?" 

The  ex-convict  thought  a  moment,  and  then  slowly 
answered : 

"Give  up  that  stock  I  swiped." 

"Right!"  cried  Roger,  with  satisfaction.  "That  is 
the  first  step.     What  would  be  the  next?" 

"I  dunno." 

"Then  I  will  enlighten  you.  The  next  thing  would 
be  to  tell  how  Norman  Stone  came  to  his  death." 


Shattered  Hopes.  195 

Prindle  paled  and  fell  back  in  his  chair,  staring  hard 
at  the  gentleman,  whose  eyes  met  his  steadily.  The 
convict  was  shaken  by  sudden  emotion,  as  both  the 
man  and  the  boy  could  plainly  see;  his  soul  seemed 
torn  with  dread  and  doubt. 

Bart  was  an  eager  listener  to  all  that  passed,  well 
knowing  the  object  at  which  Roger  was  aiming,  and 
trusting  everything  to  him. 

"In  that  way,"  the  gentleman  went  on,  noting  the 
look  of  fear  in  the  ex-convict's  eyes,  "you  can  get  even 
with  Stark  and  square  yourself  with  the  world." 

"I've  got  enough  •  of  prisons!"  muttered  Prindle 
huskily.  "Ye  can't  ask  me  ter  blow  anything  that'll 
take  me  back  there!" 

"So  you  were  mixed  in  it?"  quietly  said  Roger. 
"This  is  certainly  very  serious,  but  I  don't  suppose  you 
directly  brought  about  the  man's  death?" 

"No!  no!  no!" 

"Then  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  turn  evi- 
dence for  justice  and  be  treated  with  clemency.  The 
chances  are  you  would  get  off  without  any  punishment." 

"Do  ye  really  think  so?"  eagerly  asked  the  miner. 

"I  do." 

Prindle  thought  of  the  matter  a  long  time,  his  face 
working  strangely,  and  he  finally  replied : 

"I'll  do  it!  To  show  ye  I'm  in  earnest,  I'll  take  ye 
to  that  stock  this  night!" 

Bart's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  satisfaction,  for  if  he 
could  get  the  certificates  in  his  hands  and  the  former 
miner  would  tell  what  he  knew  about  the  "accident" 
that  deprived  Norman  Stone  of  his  life,  it  could  not  be 
such  a  difficult  thing  to  bring  about  the  punishment  of 
Cyrus  Stark  and  secure  the  mine  at  the  same  time. 

"Now  you  have  come  to  your  senses,"  assured  Roger 
Van  Worth.     "We  will  start  without  delay." 


196    •  Shattered  Hopes. 

Fifteen  minutes  later  they  were  on  the  street,  and 
having  decided  to  take  a  cab,  they  walked  rapidly  to 
Broadway,  where  a  night-hawker's  service  was  secured. 

The  drive  from  thence  to  the  Bowery  seemed  inter- 
minable to  Bart,  who  was  athirst  with  eagerness  to 
gain  possession  of  the  certificates  that  actually  belonged 
to  him  by  right  of  bargain. 

At  length  they  left  the  cab,  which  was  dismissed, 
and  Prindle  led  the  way  from  the  Bowery  down  into  a 
dark  alley  in  a  very  disreputable  locality. 

Finally  Prindle  boldly  pushed  open  a  door  and  en- 
tered a  dark  passage,  followed  by  Roger  and  Bart.  At 
the  end  of  the  passage  another  door  was  opened,  and 
they  found  themselves  in  a  squalid  room,  with  a  hag- 
gish-appearing old  woman  sleeping  in  a  chair. 

Prindle  shook  the  old  woman  roughly,  crj'ing: 

"Wake  up,  Mother  Muggs.     I've  brought  ye  cash." 

"Hey!"  cried  the  hag,  starting  to  her  feet  and  rub- 
bing her  bleary  eyes.     "What  ye  want?" 

"The  same  room  I  had  when  I  was  here  last,"  an- 
swered the  ex-convict. 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  that  feller  got  out  to-day, 
else  ye  couldn't  hev  it,"  was  the  reply.  "He  was  a 
nice  sort  of  gent,  but  down  on  his  luck,  he  said.  All 
the  same,  he  seemed  to  have  plenty  of  money,  and  he 
paid  me  well.  He  seemed  glad  ter  git  out,  though  he 
paid  me  a  dollar  extry  when  he  left. 

''Cash  in  advance  is  my  motter,"  she  went  on,  be- 
ginning to  gaze  in  wonder  at  Roger  and  Bart.  "An'  I 
wants  ter  know  why  you  brings  these  people  here? 
This  ain't  no  place  for  such  a  grand  gent  as  this  man, 
and " 

She  might  have  rambled  on  a  good  deal  longer,  but 
Roger  thrust  a  five-dollar  bill  into  her  hand,  saying 
sharply : 


Shattered  Hopes.  197 

"Take  us  to  the  room  at  once  and  this  is  yours." 

For  a  moment  Mother  Muggs  looked  as  if  she  would 
fall  in  a  faint,  and  then  she  grew  disgustingly  ob- 
sequious. 

A  short  time  later  the  trio  were  alone  in  a  wretched 
and  dirty  room,  located  at  the  top  of  the  miserable  old 
building. 

Prindle  lost  no  time.  Placing  the  smoking  lamp 
with  which  they  had  been  provided  on  the  floor,  he  got 
down  on  his  knees  in  a  corner,  first  having  dragged 
away  the  shaky  bed.  With  trembling  fingers  he 
loosened  a  board  in  the  floor  and  finally  lifted  it. 

Holding  their  breath,  the  man  and  boy  saw  him 
thrust  his  hand  into  the  cavity  exposed.  A  sudden 
look  of  consternation  came  over  the  ex-convict's  face, 
and  he  felt  around  wildly  for  a  moment,  finally  falling 
back  to  gasp : 

"Blow  me  dead  if  it  ain't  gone  I" 


198  Stark  Triumphant. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
stark  triumphant. 

"Gone!" 

The  word  broke  from  the  lips  of  the  man  and  boy 
who  heard  Buck  Prindle's  declaration. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  ex-convict  huskily,  "it  an't 
here!" 

"Out  of  the  way!"  almost  shouted  Bart,  thrusting 
Prindle  aside  with  a  push  that  sent  him  sprawling  on 
the  floor.     "Let  me  see!" 

Down  on  his  knees  he  dropped,  thrusting  his  hand 
into  the  opening  and  feeling  about  wildly.  He  was 
rewarded  by  discovering  the  man  who  brought  him  to 
that  room  had  spoken  the  truth,  for  the  place  where  the 
stock  had  been  hidden  was  empty.  He  could  touch  the 
bottom  and  the  sides,  but  the  certificates  were  not  there. 

Bart  lifted  a  white,  despairing  face  to  Roger,  who 
looked  scarcely  less  crestfallen  than  the  boy. 

For  some  moments  not  one  of  the  three  spoke.  Prin- 
dle was  sitting  in  a  kind  of  dumb  stupor  on  the  floor, 
Bart  was  kneeling,  and  Mr.  Van  Worth  stood  like  an 
image  of  stone. 

"  What  does  it  mean,  pards?"  the  Kansas  lad  finally 
asked,  speaking  with  a  great  effort. 

"Are  you  sure  this  is  the  room,  Prindle?"  demanded 
the  gentleman.      "Have  you  made  no  mistake? 

"Nary  mistake,"  was  the  positive  assertion.  "This 
is  the  room,  an'  them  certificates  ought  to  be  right 
there." 


Stark  Triumphant.  199 

"Then  somebody  has  got  ahead  of  us!" 

"The  galoot  Mother  Muggs  let  the  room  to — the  crit- 
ter as  was  down  on  his  luck!"  cried  Bart.  "That's 
the  p'ison  rascal!" 

"Right  you  are,"  assented  Roger.  "That  man  was 
here  after  the  stock — he  took  this  room  for  the  purpose 
of  finding  it!     He  was  a  detective !" 

"A  detective?" 

"Yes;  hired  by  Cyrus  Stark!  I'll  wager  I  am 
right." 

Bart  uttered  a  groan  of  dismay,  his  heart  feeling  like 
lead  in  his  breast. 

"We're  beat!"  he  said  huskily.  "Stark  is  plumb 
on  top  the  heap  this  yere  time,  and  I  reckon  he's  likely 
to  stay  thar. " 

Roger  saw  how  hard  the  boy  was  hit,  and  he  tried  to 
cheer  him  up  by  saying,  reassuringly: 

"Don't  you  think  so,  my  lad.  Trust  to  me.  I  have 
one  last  resort  of  which  you  do  not  know,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  evidence  Prindle  can  give  against  the  man. 
Come,  let's  get  out  of  this  wretched  place.  I  can't 
breathe  here." 

They  descended  the  stairs  and  were  received  by 
Mother  Muggs  below,  the  old  woman  appearing  very 
much  astonished  by  their  appearance.  However,  she 
was  given  no  time  to  make  inquiries,  for  Roger  imme- 
diately questioned  her  closely  about  the  last  lodger  to 
whom  the  room  was  let. 

When  they  left  the  wretched  lodging  house  there  was 
no  longer  any  doubt  but  Stark  had  overreached  them 
and  secured  the  stock;  or,  if  he  had  not  already  se- 
cured it,  it  was  in  the  possession  of  his  agent,  the  de- 
tective who  had  traced  the  ex-convict's  moves  up  to  the 
time  Prindle  was  captured. 

It  was  impossible  to  do  anything  further  that  night, 


200  Stark  Triumphant, 

and  soon  they  were  once  more  on  their  way  toward 
Madison  Avenue. 

Prindle  was  given  a  better  bed  to  sleep  in  than  it  had 
ever  been  his  fortune  to  occupy  before,  Roger  taking 
care  he  could  not  escape  from  the  room  and  leave  the 
house  unseen. 

Then  the  millionaire  and  his  young  protege  met  in 
the  library  once  more,  and  Mr.  Van  Worth  laid  before 
Bart  the  plan  of  the  last  assault  on  the  enemy's  strong- 
hold. 

The  Kansas  lad  listened  attentively,  and  there  was  a 
look  of  hope  in  his  eyes  as  the  gentleman  progressed. 

" I  have  every  reason  to  believe,"  said  Roger,  "that 
fortune  has  so  gone  against  Stark  that  the  only  stocks  he 
now  holds  are  those  of  the  White  Horse  Mine  and  the 
S.  P.  and  N.  M.  Railroad.  The  mining  stock  will  not 
sell  for  three  cents  on  the  dollar  until  the  mine  is  prop- 
erly opened  up  again.  Without  Stark's  knowledge,  I 
have  gathered  in  all  the  S.  P.  and  N.  M.  shares  I  could 
get  hold  of,  and  I  now  hold  a  controlling  interest  in  it. 
It  is  a  rather  sickly  concern  at  best,  and  if  I  choose  to 
throw  my  stock  on  the  market  in  a  lump,  I  can  send 
the  price  down  to  a  point  that  will  ruin  him  beyond  the 
shadow  of  a  doubt.  Do  you  see  the  grip  that  gives  me? 
To-morrow  I  will  manipulate  the  market  so  S.  P.  and 
N.  M.  gets  the  worst  hammering  it  ever  received. 
That  will  put  our  man  in  hard  sledding,  and  when  I 
come  forward  with  a  threat  to  cast  my  load  bodily  on 
the  market,  I  fancy  we  will  bring  Mr.  Cyrus  Stark  to 
time  with  a  round  turn." 

Bart  knew  nothing  of  such  schemes  and  tricks,  but 
he  trusted  everythin'.  to  the  generalship  of  his  kind 
friend,  and  told  him  so.  They  talked  until  a  very  late 
hour,  and  Bart  was  unable  to  sleep  after  he  retired,  for 
he  was  overpowered  by  the  feeling  that  the  crisis  in  his 


Stark  Triumphant.  201 

battle  for  justice  would  come  with  another  day.  By 
another  night  he  would  be  either  entirely  victorious  or 
utterly  defeated. 

Cyrus  Stark  and  'his  boy  were  together  in  the  man's 
office  at  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning,  when  the 
door  opened  and  the  Western  lad  walked  boldly  in, 
much  to  the  astonishment  of  the  father  and  son. 

"Mr.  Stark,"  said  Bart,  quietly,  "I  have  called  for 
that  yar  stock." 

Stark  gasped  for  breath. 

"Well,  of  all  the  nerve  I  ever  saw!  So  you  have 
called  for  the  stock?" 

"Yes,  sir.     I  believe  you  received  it  last  night?" 

"That  I  did,  though  it  gets  me  how  you  know  so 
much  about  it.  I  put  up  a  little  bluff  about  having 
it  before,  but  my  detective  discovered  it  yesterday  and 
turned  it  over  to  me  last  night.     Here  it  is." 

He  opened  a  drawer  and  took  out  a  rubber-strapped 
package,  which  was  triumphantly  flourished  before  the 
eyes  of  the  young  cowboy. 

"If  you  are  a  man  of  honor,"  came  calmly  from 
Bart's  lips,  "you  will  deliver  them  thar  certificates  to 
me  and  accept  this  yere  money.  You  know  I  pur- 
chased them  fairly." 

The  man  laughed  sneeringly. 

"If  I  were  a  fool,  I  would  do  so.     No,  my  boy,  you 
can't  have  them,  and   you  may  as  well   give  up  the' 
struggle,  for  you  are  fairly  defeated." 

"Not  fairly  defeated,  sir;  and  I  do  not  propose  to 
give  up,  as  you  will  soon  discover.  If  you  do  not  de- 
liver that  stock,  you  will  be  a  ruined  man  this  coming 
night.     You  hear  me  shout!" 

"Well,  of  all  the  insolent  brats  I  ever  saw!  Get  out 
— get  out  of  this  office!" 

"You  refuse  to  deliver?" 


202  Stark  Triumphant. 

"Yes!     Get  out!" 

"All  right.  I'm  going.  You'll  remember  what  I 
just  said  before  this  yere  day  is  over.     That's  all." 

Without  another  word,  the  Kansas  lad  turned  and 
walked  out  of  the  office  as  calmly  as  he  had  entered  it. 


Coals  of  Fire.  203 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

COALS  OF   FIRE. 

Walter  Stark  had  remained  a  silent  witness  of  the 
iaterview  between  the  boy  from  the  West  and  the 
triumphant  speculator  and  schemer.  There  was  a 
strange  look  on  Walter's  face,  and  he  seemed  strug- 
gling to  overcome  certain  feelings  that  sought  to  rise 
Within  him. 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Cyrus,  when  Bart  was  gone. 
''That  young  whelp  has  nerve  to  tell  me  I  will  be  a 
ruined  man  by  night!" 

Walter  said  not  a  word,  but  taking  his  hat,  hurriedly 
left  the  office. 

Down  the  single  flight  of  stairs  he  bounded,  quickly 
reaching  the  street.  He  was  in  time  to  see  Bart  walk- 
ing away  with  a  swinging  stride,  and  he  immediately 
started  after  the  Kansas  lad. 

At  first  it  seemed  as  if  Walter  would  overtake  Bart 
in  a  few  minutes,  but  the  young  cowboy  was  soon 
joined  by  Roger  Van  Worth,  and  the  pursuer  fell  back. 

Still  he  followed  along,  although  he  scarcely  knew 
why  he  was  doing  so.  He  saw  the  man  and  boy  talk- 
ing together  earnestly  as  they  walked  through  a  side 
street  toward  the  elevated  railroad. 

All  at  once  Walter  was  startled  by  a  sudden  shout  of 
alarm,  and  he  saw  people  running  swiftly  from  the 
locality,  some  of  them  waving  their  hands  wildly  to 
him. 

"Lookout!    Run!  run!" 


204  Coals  of  Fire. 

Realizing  there  must  be  some  great  danger,  he 
started  to  get  away,  but  something  came  swirling 
through  the  air  with  a  rattling  sound,  and  he  was 
hurled  to  the  ground.  A  crash  followed,  and  he  found 
himself  held  fast  by  a  staging  that  had  fallen  from  a 
new  building  which  was  being  erected. 

Walter  was  about  to  thank  his  lucky  stars  he  had 
not  been  killed,  when,  glancing  upward,  he  saw  a  spec- 
tacle that  filled  him  with  unutterable  horror. 

The  building  was  a  poor  affair,  and  the  fall  of  the 
staging  was  simply  a  sort  of  forewarning  of  what  was 
to  follow,  for  the  whole  front  wall  of  the  structure  was 
slowly  bulging  outward. 

In  less  than  a  minute  it  must  fall  crashing  into  the 
street,  and  the  unlucky  boy,  held  helpless  by  the  stag- 
ing, would  be  instantly  crushed  to  death. 

It  was  remarkable  the  agony  of  that  terrible  moment 
did  not  turn  Walter's  hair  white  as  snow.  He  seemed 
to  see  the  heavy  bricks  and  stones  bulging  outward 
inch  by  inch,  and  he  expected  the  whole  wall  to  come 
thundering  down  at  any  second. 

Through  his  brain  flashed  one  thought: 

"This  is  my  just  punishment!" 

Then  he  realized  how  desperately  wicked  he  had 
been,  and  he  shuddered  at  the  black  stain  he  seemed  to 
behold  on  his  own  soul.  He  remembered  how  the  boy 
from  the  West  had  saved  him  from  destruction  beneath 
the  express  train,  and  how  he  had  rewarded  him  by 
leaving  him  to  the  mercy  of  the  fire  that  was  consum- 
ing the  old  road  house. 

It  seemed  he  suffered  all  the  agony  of  eternal  punish- 
ment in  the  awful  moment  when  this  passed  through 
his  mind.  Then  came  the  thought  that  he  would  give 
anything  to  live  to  square  himself — to  wipe  away  the 
black  stain. 


Coals  of  Fire.  20$ 

Another  great  shout  went  up  from  the  crowd,  for  a 
figure  suddenly  dashed  forward  beneath  the  shaking 
wall,  unmindful  of  the  appalling  danger. 

Walter  saw  a  person  come  springing  to  his  side,  and 
then,  to  his  infinite  amazement,  he  recognized  Bart 
Stone.     "You'll  be  killed!"  he  gasped. 

If  Bart  heard  the  words,  he  did  not  heed  them,  for, 
with  a  remarkable  display  of  strength,  he  grasped  the 
fallen  staging  and  wrenched  it  from  the  prostrate  lad. 
Then,  without  the  loss  of  a  second,  he  caught  Walter 
up,  flung  him  over  his  shoulder,  and  ran  from  the  spot, 
hearing  a  wild  burst  of  cheers  from  the  spectators. 

Down  came  the  wall  with  a  crashing  roar,  literally 
shaking  the  ground,  and  filling  the  air  with  dust  and 
debris,  in  the  midst  of  which  the  two  boys  were  swal- 
lowed up  from  view ! 

The  cheers  from  the  crowd  were  silenced  in  an  in- 
stant— changed  to  groans  of  horror. 

"They  have  been  killed!"  cried  scores  of  voices. 

And  then  out  of  the  blinding,  swirling  cloud  of  dust 
staggered  the  boy  from  the  West,  still  bearing  Walter 
Stark  on  his  shoulder;  reeled  forward,  stumbled,  re- 
covered himself — reached  a  place  of  safety !  Then 
Walter,  saved  from  instant  annihilation  by  the  boy  he 
had  so  shamefully  treated,  was  placed  on  his  feet, 
stunned  and  confused,  but  practically  almost  unharmed. 

Again  the  spectators  cheered,  but  some  of  the  poor 
laborers  had  been  crushed  in  the  collapsed  building,  and 
the  attention  of  the  crowd  was  soon  turned  from  the 
two  boys. 

"Thar!"  panted  Bart,  as  he  brushed  the  dust  from 
his  eyes  and  looked  at  Walter;  "I  kind  of  judge  I 
didn't  yank  ye  out  of  that  too  sudden — none  whatever." 

The  face  of  the  other  boy  was  ghastly  pale,  but  he 
managed  to  gasp: 


206  Coals  of  Fire. 

"Did  you  know  whom  you  were  saving — for  whom 
you  were  imperiling  your  life?" 

"Wa-al,  I  knew  when  I  got  to  yer,  if  I  didn't  know 
before." 

"Then  why  didn't  you  leave  me  there?" 

"That  yere  an't  my  way  of  doing  business,  pard," 
was  the  reply. 

"But  I  left  you  for  the  fire.  Didn't  you  think  of 
that?"  I 

"Yes,  I  thought  of  it." 

"And  still  you  pulled  me  out!     I  don't  understand." 

At  this  juncture,  Roger  Van  Worth  came  hurrying 
toward  them,  crying: 

"My  dear  boy,  I  feared  you  were  crushed!  That 
was  a  brave  act — a  noble  act." 

"Oh,  that  thar  wasn't  much,"  protested  Bart,  who 
feared  he  was  to  be  overwhelmed  with  praise.  "It 
wasn't  nothing  like  riding  across  the  front  of  a  stam- 
peded herd  and  picking  up  a  baby  that  would  have  been 
run  down  by  the  critters — and  I  done  that  once." 

"Who  did  you  save?     Where  is  he?"  I 

"Right  hyar " 

But  Walter  had  disappeared  into  the  crowd  that  was 
surging  around  the  spot. 

"He's  gone!"  exclaimed  Bart,  in  astonishment.  "It 
was  Walter  Stark." 

"That  worthless  young  rascal!"  cried  Roger.  "You 
took  your  life  in  your  hands  to  save  him,  and  he  did 
not  even  thank  you !  He  will  simply  await  his  time  to 
do  you  an  injury  as  reward !" 

In  the  meantime  Walter  was  moving  swiftly  from 
the  spot,  his  mind  filled  with  a  turbulent  vortex  of 
emotions.  He  was  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  dis- 
gust for  himself,  for  which  reason  he  had  slipped  away 
from  his  rescuer,  whom  he  could  not  face. 


Coals  of  Fire.  207 

Straight  to  his  father's  office  he  hurried,  staggering 
in  at  the  door  and  dropping  limply  into  a  chair. 

"Goodness,  Walt!"  cried  the  elder  Stark,  in  alarm. 
"What  has  happened?  You  are  white  and  trembling, 
besides  being  covered  with  dirt.  You  followed  that 
Stone  brat  from  the  office.     Has  he " 

"That  Stone  brat,  as  you  call  him,  just  saved  my 
life,"  returned  the  boy,  in  a  shaking  voice.  "But  for 
him  I  would  have  been  crushed  beneath  the  walls  of 
the  new  Douglas  Building,  which  has  just  collapsed." 

Then  he  told  the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end, 
while  the  man  listened  with  horror  and  dismay. 

"That  is  just  our  infernal  luck!"  stormed  Stark  at 
the  conclusion.  "  Why  couldn't  it  have  been  somebody 
else  who  saved  you?" 

"Because  it  was  the  will  of  fate  that  coals  of  fire 
should  be  heaped  on  us  by  the  boy  whom  we  have  both 
treated  shamefully,"  exclaimed  Walter.  "Look  here, 
governor,  are  you  going  to  do  the  square  thing  by 
him?" 

"The  square  thing?"  gasped  Stark,  in  astonishment. 
"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Are  you  going  to  give  him  the  stock  that  really  be- 
longs to  him?    Are  you " 

"What?"  screamed  the  man,  rushing  madly  about 
the  office.  "You  are  crazy!  You  have  turned  against 
your  own  father !  Get  out  of  my  sight  instantly — get 
out,  I  say!" 

And  the  enraged  man  actually  drove  his  son  from 
the  office. 


JV 


2o8  Stark's  Defiance. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

STARK'S   DEFIANCB. 

At  twenty  minutes  past  three  on  the  afternoon  of 
that  same  day  Cyrus  Stark,  his  face  pale  and  drawn, 
was  pacing  wildly  up  and  down  his  office,  while  Jubal 
Heep  vainly  tried  to  quiet  him. 

"What's  the  use,  Stark!"  exclaimed  the  lawyer, 
rubbing  his  hawk-like  nose  with  his  forefinger.  "It's 
all  over  for  to-day,  and " 

"To-morrow  is  coming,  and  I  may  be  a  ruined  man 
fifteen  minutes  after  the  Exchange  opens  1" 

"The  tide  may  turn  in  your  favor." 

"It  will  not!     I  am  sure  of  it!" 

"Oh,  you  can  never  tell  anything  about  luck." 

Stark  paused  and  faced  Heep  squarely,  crying : 

"Luck?  Do  you  imagine  for  a  moment  this  is  luck, 
man?    If  you  do,  you  are  a  fool !" 

The  lawyer's  face  flushed,  but  he  could  not  afford  to 
resent  the  plain  words  of  this  man  who  had  put  thou- 
sands of  dollars  into  his  pocket,  so  he  spoke  as  quietly 
as  possible : 

"What  do  you  think?" 

"I  do  not  think  anything  about  it;  I  know  somebody 
has  engineered  this  deal  against  me.  S.  P.  and  N.  M. 
was  unmercifully  hammered.  Somebody  unloaded  on 
the  market,  and  nobody  dared  buy,  so  the  stuff  took  a 
fearful  slump.  See  just  when  this  thing  happened  1 
Why,  if  it  had  been  at  any  other  time,  I  could  have 
gathered  in  everything  in  sight,  and  that  would  have 


Stark's  Defiance.  209 

kept  quotations  up  and  stopped  every  petty  stockholder 
from  getting  in  a  panic  and  flinging  all  they  held  of 
the  stuff  on  the  market.  As  it  was,  I  drew  to  my  last 
dollar.  I  tell  jtou  fate  is  against  me,  and  there  is  no 
hope!     To-morrow  will  finish  the  job!" 

"Be  calm,  Stark!  You  are  working  yourself  into  a 
fearful  condition." 

"Calm?  How  can  a  man  be  calm  with  ruin  staring 
him  in  the  face?    You  talk  like  an  idiot,  HeepI" 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  and  Walter  Stark 
entered.  His  face  was  very  grave,  and  he  seemed 
about  to  say  something,  but  at  sight  of  him,  Stark  be- 
gan to  rave  still  more  furiously. 

"Here  is  a  son  to  be  proud  of!  Look  at  him !  Even 
he  has  turned  against  his  father!" 

"Walter  did  not  resent  this,  but  he  asked,  his  voice 
hoarse  and  unnatural : 

"Is  this  report  in  circulation  about  you  true,  father?" 

"  What  report?" 

"It  is  common  talk  that  you  are  on  the  brink  of 
ruin." 

That  was  enough  to  put  Stark  in  a  perfect  frenzy  of 
passion,  and  he  certainly  seemed  like  a  maniac  for  the 
next  few  minutes. 

"It  is  the  work  of  my  enemies!"  he  snarled,  literally 
gnashing  his  teeth.  "That  infernal  Kansas  brat  hoo- 
dooed me !  I  have  had  nothing  but  the  worst  kind  of 
luck  since  he  appeared !" 

"Perhaps  it  is  a  case  of  retribution,"  said  Walter, 
coldly.  "Did  you  ever  injure  his  father  or  mother 
in——" 

With  a  terrible  scream,  Stark  rushed  at  the  boy  and 
struck  him  in  the  face  with  his  clinched  fist. 

"Shut  up!     Do  you  dare  talk  to  me  like  this?" 

Walter  staggered,  and  then  he  calmly  took  out  a 


210  Stark's  Defiance. 

handkerchief  and  held  it  to  the  place  where  his  father's 
fist  had  left  its  mark.     There  was  a  strange  look  in  the 
boy's  eyes — a  look  that  did  a  great  deal  to  quiet  Cyrus 
Stark. 
"I  will  not  forget  this,  sirl"  said  the  younger  Stark. 

•♦You " 

He  said  no  more,  for  the  door  opened  again,  and 
Bart  Stone  strode  into  .the  office,  walking  straight 
toward  the  man  against  whom  he  had  waged  a  relent- 
less battle.  Stark  suddenly  cowered  and  fell  back  be- 
fore the  Kansas  lad,  huskily  asking: 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  now?" 

"I  have  your  draft  for  one  hundred  thousand  dollars, 
made  payable  to  bearer.  At  five  minutes  before  three 
this  yere  afternoon  I  presented  it  at  the  bank,  and  they 
'lowed  you  didn't  have  any  funds  corraled  thar.  I 
have  come  to  you  for  the  cash,  and  I  reckon  you'll  find 
it  healthy  to  pan  out  right  lively." 

Stark  sat  down  on  a  chair,  a  sneering  look  settling 
on  his  face,  as  he  returned : 

"I  suppose  you  have  that  check  I  gave  Van  Worth?" 

"  Wa-al,  you're  right." 

"I  decline  to  pay  it." 

"'Cause  why?    It  is  made  payable'to  bearer." 

"I  know  it,  but  I  think  I'll  just  let  you  whistle  for 
it." 

"Then  I  reckon  I'll  bring  suit  against  you  to- 
morrow, Mr.  Cyrus  Stark.  Maybe  that'll  bring  ye  to 
your  senses." 

"Go  ahead,  you  young  whelp!  That  was  in  pay- 
ment of  a  gambling  debt,  and  no  man  can  be  forced  to 
pay  such  debts  by  law." 

"That  thar's  all  right,  but  you  have  paid  it  with  a 
worthless  check,  and  I  reckon  it  puts  you  in  a  bad 
hole." 


Stark's  Defiance.  211 

"Go  ahead  and  do  your  worst!" 

"Give  me  the  stock  of  the  White  Hawse  Mine,  and 
this  yere  draft  is  yours." 

"Never!     Do  your  worst!" 

Bart  walked  quietly  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  call- 
ing: 

"Mr.  Van  Worth." 

Roger  sauntered  into  the  office,  nodding  shortly  to 
Heep  and  speaking  to  Stark : 

"How  do  you  do,  sir.  I  was  waiting  outside  to  see 
if  the  boy  could  make  a  deal  with  you.  I  infer  he  has 
failed,  but  I  may  be  able  to  bring  you  to  your  senses." 

"Bah!"  sneered  the  speculator.  "You'll  find  me 
the  hardest  man  you  ever  tackled !" 

"Possibly  I  can  bring  you  to  time.  To  begin  with, 
I  will  tell  you  just  what  we  want :  You  must  deliver  up 
the  certificates  of  the  White  Horse  Mine  stock,  and  you 
must  also  make  a  complete  confession  of  the  truth  re- 
lating to  the  death  of  Norman  Stone." 

Stark  arose  to  his  feet,  his  face  purple  with  fury. 

"Get  out  of  my  office !"  he  grated,  grinding  his  teeth. 
"Get  out  before  I  do  you  injury!" 

Roger  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eyes,  returning 
with  the  greatest  deliberation : 

"When  we  leave  this  office,  we  will  have  all  we  de- 
mand. This  is  the  end  of  the  game,  Mr.  Cyrus  Stark, 
and  you  are  beaten.  You  will  soon  realize  that.  Lis- 
ten :  To-day  you  were  nearly  swamped  by  the  slump  of 
the  S.  P.  and  N.  M.  I  was  at  the  bottom  of  that,  and 
I  accomplished  my  purpose — I  brought  you  to  the  very 
door  of  ruin.  I  could  have  snowed  you  under  if  I  had 
desired,  for  I  hold  a  controlling  interest  in  the  S.  P. 
and  N.  M.  I  chose  to  show  you  my  power,  and  then 
give  you  a  chance  to  save  yourself.  That  is  why  I  am 
here." 


2i2  Stark's  Defiance. 

"How  kind!"  sneered  the  cornered  rascal,  with  a 
desperate  attempt  at  bravado. 

"If  S.  P.  and  N.  M.  drops  five  points  to-morrow 
morning,  you  are  a  ruined  man,"  Roger  went  on,  de- 
liberately. "Unless  you  come  to  terms  without  delay, 
I  shall  instruct  my  brokers  to  unload  as  soon  as  the 
Exchange  is  opened  in  the  morning.  All  I  have  will 
be  dumped  on  the  market  in  a  lump,  and  you  can 
imagine  the  result." 

Stark's  face  was  very  pale,  and  he  made  one  or  two 
unsuccessful  efforts  to  speak.  Finally,  he  managed  to 
huskily  ask: 

"If  I  give  up  the  White  Horse  Mine  will  you  agree 
r,o  hold  the  S.  P.  and  N.  M.  shares  now  in  your  posses- 
sion and  deliver  that  draft  to  me?" 

"I  will  agree  to  hold  what  I  have  and  gather  in  all 
afloat  if  you  deliver  the  White  Horse  certificates  and 
sign  this  confession." 

Roger  produced  a  typewritten  paper  and  handed  it 
to  Stark,  who  hastily  read  it  through,  the  look  of  min- 
gled rage  and  terror  deepening  on  his  face. 

"What  is  your  answer?"  demanded  Mr.  Van  Worth. 

"This!" 

Stark  tore  the  paper  in  two  and  flung  it,  a  crumpled 
mass,  into  Roger's  face,  almost  shrieking : 

"Idefyyoui" 


Victory  at  Last.  213 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

VICTORY  AT   LAST. 

That  Cyrns  Stark  was  in  earnest  in  his  defiance 
there  could  not  be  a  doubt,  and  still  Roger  Van  Worth 
did  not  give  up  dofeated. 

"Sir,"  he  said  quietly,  "that  is  the  confession  of 
Buck  Prindle.  He  was  in  the  White  Horse  Mine  and 
saw  Norman  Stone  walk  to  his  death.  You  were  there 
and  saw  it  also.  Prindle  had  fired  the  blast,  and  you 
were  at  his  side  when  you  saw  Mr.  Stone  about  to  enter 
the  passage.  A  word  of  warniDg  would  have  kept  him 
from  goiDg  to  his  death.  Prindle  would  have  cried  out 
to  him,  but  you  put  your  hand  over  the  miner's  mouth, 
whispering  in  his  ear  for  him  to  be  silent.  And  so  you 
let  Norman  Stone  go  to  his  death." 

"Ha!  ha!"  sneered  Stark,  forcing  a  laugh.  "That 
is  a  very  fine  tale  to  tell,  but  it  is  all  rot,  rot!  It  is 
something  you  have  concocted  to  injure  me." 

"Prindle  was  supported  by  you  for  a  time  after  this," 
Roger  contiuued.  "He  had  a  hold  on  you,  and  you 
feared  him.  When  he  got  in  trouble  in  Chicago,  you 
took  pains  to  have  him  sent  up  for  a  good  long  period, 
all  the  while  pretending  you  were  his  friend  and  were 
trying  to  save  him.  Now  he  has  been  pardoned,  he 
has  made  this  confession." 

"You  tell  it  very  nicely,"  said  Stark,  puttingona 
bold  front.  "But  let  me  tell  you,  Mr.  Roger  Van 
"Worth,  I  propose  to  bring  suit  against  you  for  defama- 


214  Victory  at  Last. 

tion  of  character.  Perhaps  that  will  silence  your  slan- 
derous tongue." 

"When  I  am  done  with  3-ou,  you  will  bring  no  suit," 
came  sternly  from  Roger's  lips.  "You  will  find  I  can 
prove  all  I  have  to  say." 

Stark  had  already  been  badly  shaken,  but  he  stiffened 
up  once  more,  crying,  derisively: 

"Prove  it!     How  can  you  prove  it?" 

"By  Prindle's  confession." 

"That  won't  go,  man.  I  do  not  believe  Prindle  ever 
made  such  a  confession — and  he  lied  if  he  did." 

"  What  if  I  show  you  his  confession,  properly  made 
out,  sigued,  and  witnessed." 

"You  can't." 

"That  is  where  you  fool  yourself.  Here  it  is.  Ex- 
amine it,  and  see  if  it  is  genuine." 

Roger  took  another  document  from  his  pocket  and 
placed  it  in  Stark's  shaking  fingers.  The  man's  eyes 
ran  over  the  written  words  and  rested  on  the  signature 
at  the  end.  The  gaze  of  all  within  the  office  was  fixed 
on  him,  and  they  saw  him  suddenly  rend  the  paper 
into  fragments,  while  he  shouted : 

"How  much  good  will  your  confession  do  you  now, 
you  fool!  You  were  not  very  sharp  when  you  allowed 
me  to  take  it  in  my  hands !     Where  is  your  proof  now?" 

"I  will  have  to  produce  Prindle  himself,"  was  the 
quiet  retort. 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  That  bluff  does  not  go.  Prindle 
cannot  be  produced,  my  dear  man." 

"Why  not?" 

"He  is  dead." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"No,  I  do  not  think  so — I  k?ioiv  it." 

Bart  Stone  had  quietly  walked  to  the  office  door,  and 
he  now  stood  with  his  hand  on  the  knob,  listening  to 


Victory  at  Last.  215 

all  that  passed,  and  watching  Roger  Van  Worth.     He 
seemed  to  be  awaiting  a  signal. 

"Buck  Prindle  is  within  sound  of  my  voice,"  de- 
clared Roger,  with  great  impressiveness.     "He  lives, 

I  and  he  is " 

!      "Here!" 

The  boy  from  the  West  suddenly  flung  open  the 
door,  and  into  the  room  walked  the  ex-convict,  followed 
by  a  uniformed  officer. 

Cyrus  Stark  stood  like  one  turned  to  stone,  his  eyes 
staring,  his  face  ghastly  in  hue.  Not  a  sound  came 
from  his  parted  lips,  but  the  look  of  horror  he  wore  told 
that  he  imagined  himself  confronted  by  one  returned 
from  the  dead. 

Prindle  faced  the  chief  scoundrel  squarely,  and  a 
breathless  silence  reigned  in  that  room. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  a  horrible  sound — a  gur- 
gling groan  that  was  like  a  death  rattle.  Then  Cyrus 
Stark  pitched  forward  on  his  face,  striking  the  floor 
with  a  heavy  thud,  and  making  no  further  move. 

Roger  Van  Worth  dropped  on  his  knees  beside  the 
man,  turning  him  over  and  ripping  open  his  coat  and 
vest  to  feel  beneath  them. 

Jubal  Heep  aroused  himself  from  a  sort  of  stupor, 
caught  his  breath  with  a  rasping  sound,  and  then  cried  : 

"Somebody  go  for  a   physician — quick!     Stark    is 
:  dying!" 

"It  is  too  late  to  save  him,"  declared  Roger  Van 
Worth  solemnly.     "He  is  already  dead !" 

The  day  following  Cyrus  Stark's  funeral  Bart  Stone 
received  a  message  inviting  him  to  call  at  Jubal  Heep's 
office  at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  and  bring  Roger 
Van  Worth  with  him. 

Promptly  at  the  appointed  hour  the  man  and  boy  en- 


216  Victory  at  Last. 

tered  the  lawyer's  office,  to  be  received  with  a  great 
show  of  cordiality  by  the  obsequious  Heep. 

"lam  pleased  to  meet  you  again,  Mr.  Stone — how 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Van  Worth?  Have  seats,  gentlemen. 
Mr.  Walter  Stark  should  be  on  hand  now.  I  am  sure 
he  will  arrive  in  a  few  moments." 

"Our  time  is  valuable,"  asserted  Roger.  "The  ap- 
pointment was  made  for  two  o'clock." 

"I  am  aware  of  it,  gentlemen,  and  I  regret  any  de- 
lay, I  assure  you.  Still,  I  think  it  will  pay  you  to 
wait  a  short  time.  I  am  sur —  Ah!  here  is  Mr. 
Stark." 

Walter  came  in  slowly.  His  face  was  haggard  and 
his  eyes  blood-shot.  His  appearance  seemed  to  indi- 
cate he  had  scarcely  known  sleep  for  days. 

He  half  hesitated,  looked  at  the  man  and  boy,  then 
removed  his  hat,  and  made  a  bow.  His  lips  moved  as 
if  he  would  speak,  but  he  seemed  to  change  his  mind, 
for  he  said  nothing. 

Walter  walked  to  Heep's  desk  and  made  a  movement 
the  lawyer  seemed  to  understand,  for  he  opened  a  small 
safe  at  his  back  and  took  out  a  package.  This  package 
was  placed  on  the  desk,  and  then  Walter  faced  Roger 
and  Bart  again,  speaking  huskily 

"My  father  is  dead,  and  the  fight  is  ended.  Still, 
Mr.  Stone  has  not  obtained  his  just  and  lawful  rights, 
for  I  am  satisfied  the  White  Horse  Mine  belongs  to 
him.  The  entire  certificates  of  the  old  stock  are  in 
this  bundle.  As  soon  as  the  mine  is  properly  opened 
up  again  this  stock  will  be  gilt-edged.  Mr.  Heep  tells 
me  I  can  hold  it  for  all  of  anything  you  can  do,  but  I 
have  decided  that  that  would  be  unjust,  not  to  say 
criminal.  I  now  deliver  this  stock  to  Mr.  Stone,  and 
trust  it  may  bring  him  more  happiness  than  it  ever 
brought  to  my  poor  father." 


Victory  at  Last.  2 1 7 

He  walked  up  to  Bart  and  placed  the  bundle  in  the 
hands  of  the  Kansas  lad.  Then  Walter  returned  to 
the  desk,  speaking  once  more : 

"I  wish  to  apologize  to  Mr.  Stone  for  my  treatment 
of  him.  I  am  aware  my  acts  were  reprehensible  and  I 
realize  his  nobleness.  Twice  he  placed  his  own  life  in 
peril  to  save  mine,  the  second  time  after  I  had  aban- 
doned him  to  the  flames  in  the  old  roadhouse.  I  think 
it  was  that  last  act  which  opened  my  eyes  to  my  own 
meanness  of  soul  and  his  nobility.  I  have  been 
ashamed  of  myself  ever  since,  and  I  now  humbly  ask 
his  pardon." 

"  Wa-al,  I'd  be  meaner  than  a  mule  if  I  didn't  grant 
it  after  this  yere!"  cried  Bart  promptly.  "I  don't 
hold  any  hardness,  pard,  and  thar's  my  paw  to  prove 
I's  squar'  in  saying  so!" 

He  strode  forward  and  held  out  his  hand.  Walter 
hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  grasped  it,  his  chin  quiv- 
ering and  a  suspicious  moisture  dimming  his  eyes. 

"You  are  white!"  he  huskily  exclaimed — "white  to 
the  bone!" 

Last  year  the  White  Horse  Mine  was  opened  once 
more  by  a  stock  company  of  which  Roger  Van  Worth 
was  the  president,  although  Bartley  Stone  held  the 
bulk  of  the  stock.  The  rediscovered  lead  proved  re- 
markably rich,  and  the  stock  of  the  concern  was  soon 
quoted  at  a  premium.  The  quotations  have  risen  grad- 
ually since  then,  but  there  is  at  the  present  time  not  a 
share  to  be  purchased.  It  is  not  on  the  market  at  any 
price. 

Buck  Prindle  is  employed  in  the  mine,  and  he  seems 
in  earnest  about  wishing  to  live  an  honest  life. 

After  the  loss  of  Cyrus  Stark's  patronage,  which  was 
ended  by  death,  Jubal  Heep  was  soon  forced  to  give  up 


218  Victory  at  Last. 

his  office  in  the  expensive  building  and  retire  to  cheaper 
quarters.  In  less  than  a  year  he  was  located  on  the 
Bowery,  and  scornfully  termed  a  "shyster"  by  all  who 
knew  him.     Wilson  disappeared  altogether. 

Ned  Steinway  is  the  same  worthless  young  dandy, 
his  great  object  in  life  being  to  become  known  as  "a 
dead  game  sport"  and  man-about- town. 

Walter  Stark  learned  his  lesson,  and  he  cut  clear  of 
Steinway  and  his  ilk,  greatly  to  his  advantage.  He 
made  a  resolution  to  become  a  man  among  men,  square 
and  upright,  and  the  prospect  looks  encouraging  at  the 
present  time,  for,  finding  his  father  had  left  nothing 
behind,  he  obtained  a  position  in  a  wholesale  commer- 
cial house,  and  has  been  advanced  until  he  is  now  ship- 
ping clerk  in  one  of  their  largest  departments. 

Ferda  Van  Worth  is  just  as  pretty  and  vivacious  as 
ever,  and  she  firmly  believes  her  father  the  grandest 
man  in  the  world,  and  Bartley  Stone  the  noblest  boy 
that  ever  lived. 

As  for  Bart,  he  is  proud  of  Ferda's  esteem,  and  in 
his  heart  there  is  an  undying  friendship  for  her  that 
may  ripen  into  a  stronger  attachment  in  the  years  to 
come. 

Bart's  mother,  a  sweet-faced,  white-haired  lady,  is 
now  enjoying  the  comforts  of  life,  of  which  she  was 
temporarily  deprived  by  the  perfidy  of  Cyrus  Stark. 
Her  heart  kindles  with  joy  and  her  eyes  glow  with 
pride  whenever  she  thinks  of  her  only  son,  and  the 
noble  record  he  has  already  made. 

"God  has  been  very  good  to  give  me  such  a  boy!" 
she  murmurs  day  after  day. 

For  all  of  past  shadows,  the  world  looks  bright  to 
her,  as  it  also  does  for  the  Boy  from  the  West. 

THE  END. 


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